Imperium in Imperio
by Mirage Shinkiro
Summary: G1. Praxian mechs from Prowl's past appear on Earth, secretly endangering the crew, especially the twins. Prowl must save the twins and face his love for both Jazz and Prime. Who will he choose, and why do the twins mean so much to him? AU elements.
1. The Past becomes the Present

_Title: Imperium in Imperio  
_or_ An Empire within an Empire_

_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ **M  
**_**Warnings:**_ mech/mech, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots. Experimentation of styles for me, so this story will reference and/or use jack/port, plug-n-play, and spark merging. Don't like, don't read.

_Pairings, major:_ OptimusxProwl, ProwlxJazz, ?  
_Pairings, minor:_ SunstreakerxBluestreak, SideswipexSmokescreen, various staple pairs  
_Characters, major:_ Prowl, Optimus, Jazz, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

Thank you to pl2363 and Asher119 for betareading.

_Summary:_ G1. Praxian mechs from Prowl's past appear on Earth, secretly endangering the crew, especially the twins. Prowl must save the twins, and while fighting the Praxians, he must face his love for both Jazz and Optimus Prime. Who will he choose, and why do the twins mean so much to him? **AU elements.**

_A/N, units of time:_ nanoklik=1 second; klik=1.2minutes; breem=8.3 minutes; joor=roughly an hour; orn=a day; decoarn=ten days; stellar cycle=one year, and vorn=83 years.

_A/N, explanation:_ Some use of **rare canon characters** who have yet to appear as we know them. To be more specific, I'm using some of the MicroMasters, but they haven't yet been formatted as MicroMasters and might not be the "correct" faction at this point. Mystery will be explained later. ;) Like I said, AU elements.

Chapter 1 references "Autobot Spike" and "The Immbolizer."

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Preteritus Fio Tendo  
**_**or**_** The Past Becomes the Present**_

For Prowl, life was something that had been forced to make sense. Literally. Every orn when he awakened, his battle computer fed him order, organization, logic, rationality, and reason, and therefore Prowl moved in a world of sense and structure. And it was for this cause that when Prowl's carefully constructed world developed a twist, it seemed to explode around him.

In this case, also literally.

"What," he asked, enunciating each word sharply as a wall of fine black dust rained upon him, "may I ask, was that?"

The potential victim of his rarely-used wrath chuckled nervously, his headfins flashing blue. "You know how I wondered if a Cybertronian's essence could be transferred into a human body? I mean, if Spike's spark — uh, soul — could power a mech body, then why not the other way around?"

_Primus, don't remind me,_ Prowl thought, his optics narrowing. He glanced around the nice, flat patch of sand, now black with soot, just beyond the _Ark's_ external research bunker. At least Wheeljack's lab hadn't been decimated.

"Well, when I started looking into it, I began to wonder if I could fashion a metaphysical weapon that temporarily knocked a mech's essence out of his body." Wheeljack sounded terribly cheerful about it. "No physical injuries but a definite interruption in their ability to fight!"

Prowl rarely felt fear of any kind, but an icy shard lanced his spark. "And that is what exploded in my direction?" He wasn't sure which bothered him more: the idea it could have succeeded or the complication of what it would have meant for him if it had succeeded. The metaphysics of sparks was a touchy subject for him. The entire incident of Spike's being in a Cybertronian body had disturbed him even though it hadn't surprised him that such a thing was possible.

Perceptor stepped out of the bunker and rushed to Wheeljack's side. "Oh, how horribly frustrating! Just when we were getting so close, too."

"Close?" Prowl echoed, unsure when Prime had approved such an experiment. "I didn't see a request form for this."

Wheeljack shook his head. "Oh, Prowl, it's totally experimental technology. I wasn't certain if such a thing could even be built, so I asked Percy's advice. And the next thing we knew, it was eating up all our free time, but if we'd succeeded —"

Prowl held up one hand, stopping the verbal barrage. Wheeljack was just as tireless in his efforts to please Prime as he was intellectually curious. "If you want to try again, send a request through the official channels and build it on the record."

Sudden peals of laughter floated over the thin desert wind, and Prowl realized the afternoon was drawing to a close, which meant the twins would be back from patrol. He glanced toward the _Ark's_ entrance and saw Sunstreaker shaking his head in disgust and Sideswipe bent over laughing.

"Hey, sir!" Sideswipe yelled. "Don't you know better than to get too close to 'Jack's experiments!"

Prowl suspected he was so coated in ash that he looked solid black. "Don't you know not to antagonize your SIC at the end of your shift?" he asked dryly. "Especially on your so-called 'birthday'?"

Sideswipe abruptly stopped laughing and ran inside, no doubt ready to laugh again once out of Prowl's audio and visual range. Sunstreaker followed him at a more sedate pace. Prowl watched them, his optics lingering on their armor colors until they were hidden from sight. Wheeljack's voice snapped him back to rights.

"Sorry, sir," Wheeljack said, stepping up to gingerly brush ash from Prowl's shoulder.

Prowl remained deadpan. "I've suffered worse fates than ash in my intakes and suddenly all-black paint." He gestured to the chunks of metal littering the hot sand. "Do clean up your mess, though."

"Yes, sir!" Wheeljack set to work with Perceptor's help.

Satisfied all would be well eventually, Prowl strolled toward the _Ark's_ entrance. Even though the orn had been uneventful up until Wheeljack's explosion, Prowl knew it wouldn't stay that way. Bluestreak and Blaster were in the rec room helping a mass of mechs set up a spark-date party for the twins. Prowl could only feel relieved that creation orns were only celebrated on dates involving threes, sixes, and tens. For a species so long-lived, a party every stellar cycle had little meaning, and older mechs sometimes forgot or didn't bother. Younger mechs, though, looked forward to the orns that marked their third, sixth, and tenth stellar cycles, vorns, or millennia. And for the lucky crew of the _Ark_, today marked the twins' sixth millennia since none of them counted the time they were in stasis.

Prowl nearly smiled when he reached the open blast doors and found a smirking Jazz waiting for him.

"It's not that bad, Prowler!" Jazz thumped him lightly on the shoulder. "Just think. Ya won't have to put up with another party like this one for 932 stellar cycles."

It was a valid point. Bluestreak would be the next one to celebrate a creation date, his sixth millennia as well, but it was still a long way off. The truth was, however, that Prowl was happy for the twins, even if he could never overtly show it. "Well, since I won't be the one to clean up the inevitable mess, it hardly matters."

Jazz chuckled. "True, true." He looped his arm through Prowl's. "But ya are goin' for awhile, right? At least long enough to wish them continued longevity?"

"Of course." Prowl tried unsuccessfully to extract his arm. "Jazz, I haven't logged myself off-duty yet."

"But it's time for ya to!" Jazz grinned up at him.

Prowl knew a lost cause when he saw one, and his concern was only for decorum. He hardly minded Jazz's touch and in fact had been secretly in love with him for ten of the eleven vorns they'd worked side-by-side. Jazz's easy grins, rich humor, and laidback attitude were addicting. "Aren't you concerned about getting ash on yourself?"

"Nah, because I'm takin' ya to the washracks." Jazz nearly had a hop in his step, which was hardly surprising since formal celebrations were rare occurrences. "Ya have to look all shiny for the party." He gave Prowl a fake pout. "You'll stay longer than a few kliks, right? Maybe even dance?"

Prowl hid well the fact that Jazz could get just about anything he asked for, within reason, when he used that silly but adorable pout of his. Not that he needed convincing in this case. "Certainly. A sixth millennium is a big deal. We can actually consider them adults now." It was a ridiculous exaggeration, but it was delivered straight-faced.

It also had the desired effect: Jazz laughed. "Give 'em ten more and they might act like it."

Prowl gave him a subtle smile, but his good mood slipped away from him. Orns like these were always the hardest. He wanted so much to be more to the twins than just a strict, stoic commander. More than the officer who punished them when they misbehaved. He didn't want to be the one they hated to see coming, and the thought that they likely only tolerated his presence never failed to make him ill.

But he dare not let them know they were special. Too much was at stake.

oOoOo

When Prowl's life, much like the mech himself, decided to get complicated, it pursued its goal 110 percent. In some aspects, though, Prowl saw that problem coming.

Once clean again, Prowl reported to Prime's office. He'd technically logged himself off-duty before showering, but with a crew this small, he was never truly free. 'On call' was the definition of his life. Besides, he felt that Optimus should know about Wheeljack's experiment sooner rather than later, and he also suspected Prime was overworking himself again, something Prowl planned to stop posthaste. As much as he admired his Prime — his dedication, his idealism, his care — Prowl also worried that he tried to carry too much and would become spark-weary.

"Prowl," Prime greeted him warmly. "Do you need another lecture about working while off-duty?"

Hearing rather than seeing Prime's grin, Prowl returned the smile. "You, sir, are a hypocrite." He supposed they were each other's watchdogs, always trying to ease burdens, take care of needs, and force rest and relaxation upon one another.

Optimus chuckled and leaned back in his desk chair, setting down his datapad. Prowl could only assume he was pondering the implications of President Reagan's request for technology sharing. "Indeed I am."

Prowl shifted back into his officer mode. "I feel that you should know Wheeljack is pursuing, on his own time and with Perceptor's help, an experiment related to the transfer of Spike's soul into Autobot X's body." Once again he felt a chill flash through his frame and ripple across his spark, as though a ghost in his past had attempted to rise and assert itself. "Apparently he wishes to find a way to displace a mech's spark temporarily."

"I sense disapproval." Prime crossed his arms over his chest.

"Sparks are not predictable in the way physical mechanics are." Prowl felt his doorwings tense. He could never fully explain his bias against experiments involving the quantum mechanics of sparks. "And, as our experience last decaorn with Wheeljack's Instant Immobilizer proved, such technology can easily be turned against us." He paused, knowing his dissent would be given weight since he usually espoused Wheeljack's projects. He was normally a vocal supporter of Science and Medical's experiments. "If you choose to let him continue, I suggest _extreme_ caution, sir."

Optimus nodded. "I will most definitely take that under advisement." He logged himself off-duty, then pushed his chair away from his desk, angling it slightly. "Prowl, my friend, come here." He gestured with one arm.

Even knowing the complication his compliance would cause, Prowl wouldn't refuse. Being keenly aware that his calm presence soothed Prime's daily stress, Prowl wanted nothing more than to help, to return Optimus' affection with his own — not to mention that Optimus made him feel special, safe, and cared for. Without hesitation, he walked around Prime's desk and stopped by his chair. "Sir?"

"No 'sir,'" Prime admonished him, wrapping one arm gently around his waist and pulling him a touch closer. "I was partially serious about your overworking yourself. You are attending the twins' creation celebration, aren't you? You need to take some time to relax."

Therein lay the nature of Prowl's predicament. Why settle for something as simple as being in love with one mech when he could defy all logic and be in love with two? He'd realized the nature of the dilemma almost immediately. Once he'd recognized his thrumming spark meant he was in love with Jazz, he'd felt the same sensation around Optimus, who had still been dating Elita at the time. With Elita now reported dead, however, Prowl could no longer pretend there might be an easy solution.

Not that there had ever been an easy solution.

Prowl leaned into Prime's one-armed embrace, watching Optimus' posture relax faintly at even the simplest contact. The warmth, the care, the affection radiating from Prime's every look, every word, and every action pulled on his spark. "Yes, I'm attending the party."

A large hand pressed gently against the small of his back. "I hear there will be traditional dancing." Optimus' voice was low, quiet. "Would you save me a dance?"

The thought of being held close in Prime's arms was utterly intoxicating; half of him was attracted to Optimus' broad shoulders, strong arms, and powerful frame. "As you wish." Such a neutral answer for something Prowl sometimes dreamt of.

_But what of Jazz?_ whispered Prowl's other half, needling him with an opposite desire, a different attraction. It wasn't a question Prowl could ignore, and after a moment's consideration, he realized Jazz would find it unremarkable that the Prime would dance one round with his SIC. Formal occasions often called for such measures. However, that did leave the opposing concern as well: if Prowl spent most of the night dancing with Jazz, Optimus would think his feelings were one-sided.

Prowl bit back the urge to curse. He actually couldn't entertain a relationship with _either_ of them for several reasons, both simple and convoluted. The best he could do was dance once with each and then escape.

Such was the inevitable outcome of his failures.

oOoOo

Like a true perfectionist, Prowl's life decided that two-dimensional complication was simply not anal enough. And so it was that Prowl found himself being tracked by Jazz the instant he entered the rec room. Recently, Jazz had engaged in random visits to his office or quarters, showered him with extra touches to the arms or hands, and graced him with cryptic, smiling comments. Prowl suspected that his vorns-long love for Jazz was being returned, which was both gratifying and complicated. It also meant that Prowl would have trouble extracting himself from the celebration after only one dance.

Blaster already had soft background music playing, and most of first and third shift were present, although a few second-shift mechs, namely Jazz and Smokescreen, had traded shifts because they were the party's official sponsors and organizers. Prowl had approved the changes without fuss. Since he was dating Sideswipe, Smokescreen was an obvious choice for sponsor/planner, just like Bluestreak, who was dating Sunstreaker. Unsurprisingly, the four of them were standing by the guest of honor's table as all the entering mechs stopped by to congratulate the twins. _How ironic the twins' choices of lovers are,_ Prowl thought, fighting the urge to shake his head.

In the thirty astroseconds it took for Prowl to size up the room's occupants, Jazz made his move.

"Heya, Prowler." Jazz slipped his arm through Prowl's for the second time that orn and pulled him toward the refreshment table. "We've arranged to do the traditional aspects first before turnin' the room into a club scene." He grabbed a small cube of high-grade and handed it to Prowl. "So I gotta ask. Will ya save a dance for me?"

Prowl gazed at Jazz and his impish, flirtatious grin. The thought of holding Jazz close in his arms, listening to his musical voice and laughter, was equally intoxicating as the idea of dancing with Optimus. "Certainly."

Jazz's grin widened as he picked up a high-grade for himself. "Cool."

"Let me go give my well-wishes before the celebration officially begins." Giving Jazz his cube to hold on to, Prowl extracted himself and joined the line behind Hound and Mirage. Oftentimes mechs acted nervous or stifled when Prowl joined a party, and he sincerely hoped that wouldn't be the case this time. The crew would never know the true depth of his care. Prowl cherished each and every one of his comrades and fellow Autobots and took private joy in nurturing the younger mechs through their difficult vorns. It helped salve a too-raw wound deep within his spark, and Prowl warred at times between the distance required of his position and the pull of his emotions and soul.

Hound and Mirage moved on, and Prowl gave the twins a small smile as he stepped forward. "Congratulations. I'm very happy to see you celebrate your sixth millennia." Allowing himself to act upon an impulse he rarely followed, he reached out and squeezed one of their shoulders each.

An answering small smile bent up the corners of Sunstreaker's lips, and Sideswipe stepped forward, clapping Prowl on the shoulder in return. Prowl could feel a moment's pull, an indefinable tugging, and a part of him screamed out.

"You came to our party!" Sideswipe grinned, his optics brightening at their shared touch. "Nice to see you emerge from your office and join in a bit of the fun."

Prowl gazed up at him a moment too long. Were there even words for what he needed to say? "Of course. You only celebrate a spark-date like this once."

"Awww, you hide it, but you can be really sweet sometimes." For all the universe, Sideswipe seemed to be joking.

How much Prowl wished he weren't. "Well, if you thought I had a weakness, the _Ark_ would never be safe again." He said it lightly, although his humor was always deadpan. He wondered if Sideswipe would be able to detect it, but thankfully he laughed. At the sight, faces and names he hadn't thought about in millennia filled his processor, flooding his spark with dissociated emotions. The curve of Sideswipe's smile, the glint in his optic; it was all too familiar and far, far too painful.

"The mech shows a bit of humor," Sunstreaker remarked dryly, cocking his head. "The universe will end now."

Prowl felt his lips twitch upwards in response, his optics tracing over Sunstreaker's features. The strong jawline, the jutting chin, the strength behind the stoicism. Faces from the past, returning to haunt him. "Perhaps I may use the shock of it as a weapon against the Decepticons?"

Both twins chuckled at that, and from either side of them, Bluestreak and Smokescreen did as well. Prowl chatted with them a moment more before nodding and moving on, and unsurprisingly, Jazz was awaiting him. Optimus arrived shortly thereafter, and the three officers chatted and sipped high-grade until the celebration officially began.

Bluestreak and Smokescreen, as both party-sponsors and lovers, called everyone to order, and Blaster turned down the music. Following Cybertronian tradition, instead of everyone giving the twins gifts, the twins would be giving their loved ones thanks for having seen them through the previous three millennia since their last official spark-date celebration. Sideswipe stepped forward and grinned at the guests, and Prowl suspected that he would be speaking for both Sunstreaker and himself.

"Thanks for coming, everybody!" Sideswipe bounced faintly on his feet. "Sunny and I could probably give a shout out to most of you for what you've done for the last three million stellar cycles, but I know you want to get to the high-grade and dancing."

A murmur of laughter raced through the room. Prowl kept his Official Event Polite Small Smile on his lips, but it was as much as mask as his stoic façade. He wished he would be one of the mechs to make the twins' thank-you list, but he knew that would never happen.

Sideswipe gestured to his sides. "First of all, thanks to Smokey, Blue, Jazz, Blaster and Bee for helping to organize the party and get it set up." He turned toward Smokescreen. "Specifically, I'd like to say how awesome you are, Smokey. You've kept me laughing for vorns now and even looked out for me when I needed it." His grin grew lopsided. "I'd say more, but no way am I getting mushy in front of everyone."

In what Prowl suspected would be his only contribution to the 'gifts', Sunstreaker spoke up. "Yeah, Smokey, thanks for keeping my idiot twin sane and alive." He paused as more laughter flitted through the room, then turned to Bluestreak. "You talk more than any mech I've ever known, Blue, but you keep things light and cheerful. We all need a bit of that, me included. So thanks."

Prowl wondered if anyone other than Bluestreak and Sideswipe could tell that Sunstreaker was being genuine in his compliment. It almost qualified as a private joke, since Bluestreak had once confided in Prowl that he didn't feel the need to talk nonstop when Sunstreaker was around.

Pointing at Jazz, Sideswipe resumed center stage. "Jazz, man, we don't even know where to begin. You're constantly building up everyone's morale, not just ours, and you always give us good races out in the desert. You—"

Letting the words wash over his audios, Prowl stopped paying attention to the specifics as Sideswipe continued. Prime, Blaster, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Ironhide were all singled out as special, and it twinged Prowl's spark to know he could never make that list. Not if he kept the most important promise of his life. However, he had fought for millennia to keep the twins safe, even at the cost of his own desires and very nearly his sanity. No matter his wishes, he could never be more to them than the SIC.

Whispers teased at Prowl's audios, ghosting across his sensors. Prowl shifted, glancing over his shoulder, but no one was there. He shook his helm, trying to rid himself of the sensor echoes, but they continued unabated. He clenched his jaw, cables and gears flexing, and he tried to ride the wave of cresting sensations as the whispers solidified into laughter, light, cheerful and young, then a scream, and finally names: "Night!" _"Maverick!"_

"And now it's time for the traditional dancing!"

Sideswipe's exclamation startled Prowl out of his spark's madness and his maudlin thoughts. He gasped faintly, his doorwings hitching, and then he immediately had a Prime standing at his right elbow.

"I believe it would be proper to claim my SIC for the first dance," Optimus said, a light teasing undercutting the formality of his words.

Jazz, who was standing to his left, just smiled graciously. "Second dance is mine, then!"

Tradition was an easy thing to fall back on. "Certainly," Prowl said, encompassing them both with his answer.

Optimus held out his arm, and Prowl took it, allowing himself to be led onto the makeshift dance floor. Multiple couples took their places around them — Sideswipe and Smokescreen, Sunstreaker and Bluestreak, Hound and Mirage, Inferno and Red Alert — but Prowl was suddenly deaf and blind to them as Optimus pulled him close. Prime's hand was warm as he grasped Prowl's, and Prowl's armor seemed hypersensitive where Optimus rested his other hand on the small of his back. He could hear the quiet but powerful hum of Prime's engine, and he felt engulfed by his strong embrace.

The song began, a loping beat reminiscent of a waltz, and as Optimus swept him sideways into the first step, Prowl realized he'd been pulled closer. They were still at a polite distance rather than an intimate one, meaning any lookers-on wouldn't be suspicious. However, Prowl was quite aware that only decorum was stopping him from leaning his head against Prime's chest, and he could feel the warmth of Prime's armor on his frame. He lifted his face to meet Prime's gaze and nearly stalled out when he saw the affection there.

Hyperaware of Jazz's presence, Prowl waited until his back was to Jazz before giving Optimus a gentle smile. "Are you enjoying the party? You needed the relaxation as much as I."

"Very much so." Prime's hand squeezed his. "I realize I've been fairly quiet this evening, but while I listened to the twins' thank-you speeches, I fell deep into thought."

_Knowing him, that could be good or bad,_ Prowl mused. "About what, if I may ask?"

"I've been wondering what I would do without you," Optimus murmured. "I rarely tell you just how much I appreciate your steady, calm strength and dedication. It's more than just your hard work; it's the hidden care you pour into it as you strive to keep us safe." He paused. "It will be a long time before I have a celebratory spark-date in order to say such things, and I realized I needed to say so now."

Prowl could hear the smile that Prime's mask hid, and for a moment he was so flustered he nearly tripped. He rarely received acknowledgement or praise for the exceptional time and effort he poured into his job. "I — that is, it's only . . ." He hesitated, realizing it warmed his spark to know Prime not only _saw_ him and what he did, he cared. To Optimus, he _was_ special. "Thank you, sir." He could feel the smile blooming on his lips.

"Don't call me 'sir.'" Prime's voice was gentle, loving. "We're not on duty, and we're . . . friends."

Prowl suddenly became aware of how close they were dancing. The Prime's chest armor pressed against Prowl's bumper, and for a moment, he had the sensation he might be kissed if Optimus only retracted his mask. Prowl's feelings split cleanly down the center: half of him wanted to be kissed, audience be damned, but the other half didn't want to hurt Jazz. Preoccupied with that problem, Prowl almost missed the final notes of the song and stopped dancing only because Optimus led him to a standstill.

"Thank you for the dance." Optimus stepped back and sketched a bow.

Prowl returned the bow, already missing the strong arms that had held him. "You're welcome."

The words had barely passed from his lips, and Jazz was already at his side. "My turn!" He grinned, clearly playful despite his underlying determination.

Optimus nodded to Jazz and headed off the dance floor. At moments like these, Prowl thanked Primus that one of his skills was acting. Specifically, in this case, erecting a stoic mask. Optimus' facial expression was always muted by his battle mask, but his body language made up for it. He had stiffened when Jazz had appeared, and although he was too polite to deny Jazz a chance to dance with Prowl, he was jealous. That made Prowl uneasy, even if he understood why Optimus would feel that way, but he hid his reactions under his own 'mask.'

Jazz, though, showed no reaction to Optimus' having gotten the first dance. He was trained to be a premier actor and could lie through not only his words but also his facial expression, body language, and even the pitch of his engine and systems. "What's this? Our overworked SIC ventures outta his office and ends up with a whole line of mechs wantin' to dance with him?"

"I do?" Prowl was genuinely surprised. Still, he took Jazz's hand in his and looped his arm around his waist, pulling him close. He rested his hand on the small of Jazz's back as Jazz rested his free hand on his shoulder. The arrangements in dancing were decided by individual inclinations. Although Cybertronian frame designs were based on organic creatures, their so-called genders didn't extend to physical sexes. Without sex roles to complicate their lives, they simply operated on personal preferences. Jazz seemed to alternate between being courted and being the courter. With Prowl, though, his flirting clearly indicated he wanted to be pursued, and Prowl had no trouble stepping into that role.

"Ya sure do." Jazz stepped as close as Optimus and Prowl had danced. "Apparently Bluestreak wants a turn with ya, and ya dance so nicely that Mirage does, too. He's always lookin' out for talented dance partners since Hound's not that interested in it. Optimus asked ya, and I'll be back for seconds."

The music began, this song with a wistful tone, and Prowl swept Jazz sideways. Being so close in height, they were able to nearly melt into each other as they moved, becoming a picture of swirling grace. Had he been a touch more daring, Prowl would have pressed their cheeks together, and as it was he cherished the feel of Jazz's warmth on his frame. The feel of Jazz in his arms was exhilarating and seemed to resonate in his very spark. He wanted to hold him closer, and he suspected Optimus must have felt the same while holding him.

"That makes me strangely popular, I suppose," Prowl finally answered. "I don't mind dancing with Bluestreak, of course, and I don't even mind dancing with Mirage, given how talented he is. But I admit my true interests are narrower."

A beautiful smile lit Jazz's face, his visor shining brighter as well. Nothing was more beautiful that Jazz smiling, although Optimus relaxed and carefree was an equally gorgeous sight. "Then I'll be back for thirds and fourths, too," Jazz said, squeezing Prowl's hand.

_Oops._ That wasn't quite the effect Prowl had intended, but then again he'd never been good at flirting. He hid a grimace, wondering how he'd balance the requests between Optimus and Jazz without being too obvious or hurting either of them. _Primus, how do I get myself into these messes?_ he wondered, exasperated with himself. He also couldn't deny that he wanted to dance with the twins once. Not that it would ever happen.

"Really, Prowler." Jazz's smile was soft. "It's good to see ya enjoyin' yerself this way. I'm glad ya stayed to dance."

Prowl returned the smile, touched. "So am I." His gaze seemed to catch on the brilliant blue of Jazz's visor and the grin that quirked his lips, and he suffered a nearly unstoppable urge to lean down and capture those lips with his. Once again, his spark seemed to split between two impulses, one begging him to give in and the other warning him that Optimus was watching.

A distant part of Prowl's processor nudged him with the awareness the song was ending, and he led them to a stop. With some effort, he released Jazz and stepped back, bowing. "Thank you."

Jazz returned the bow with a grand flourish. "Why, yer welcome, kind sir." He'd thickened his accent into a playful poke at the formalities.

Prowl chuckled, but before he could say anything further, Bluestreak had already made his way over. Prowl accepted his fate graciously, having developed a bond with the gunner after rescuing him from Praxus' ruins.

"Would you dance with me?" Bluestreak asked, a small, shy smile quirking his lips.

Sunstreaker glanced Prowl's way, sticking his nose in the air; Sideswipe frowned at his brother but wouldn't look at Prowl. Bluestreak's request wasn't odd, given that Prowl had taken him under his figurative and literal wing after the fall of Praxus. Was Sunstreaker actually jealous of Prowl? His spark clenched at the thought, and he forced his attention back to Bluestreak, pushing the burning emotions aside. "Certainly."

Prowl pulled Bluestreak into his arms, putting his hand on the small of his back, and led him through the next song, letting Bluestreak chat happily. As soon as they finished, more dancing partners awaited Prowl, and so he took a turn with Mirage and Tracks, both of whom were drawn by his graceful dancing skills. In between his impromptu partners, he danced a second time with Optimus and Jazz, and Prowl could only feel grateful when an impressed Blaster asked him for a turn. At this rate, the crew wouldn't be able to detect any favoritism toward Jazz or Optimus, and said mechs wouldn't be able to feel jealous of each other, either. Two more breems, according to Blaster, and the music would be switched to Cybertronian club hits and Earth rock songs. If Prowl could only survive until then, he assumed he could escape unscathed.

Fate, however, had a far different goal in mind.

Prowl had been halfway through his third dance with Optimus, already plotting to balance it with a third dance for Jazz, when his comm. link beeped. The way Optimus halted mid-step told Prowl he was receiving the message as well.

::Optimus, Prowl,:: came Wheeljack's voice over the channel. He was taking a two-joor shift on the Command Deck to help rotate the command staff through the party. ::Cosmos indicates an Autobot short-range shuttle has entered our air space. Identifies as friendly with current security codes. He's escorting them in.::

Optimus and Prowl exchanged puzzled looks. No one had sent them a message requesting an approach to Earth.

::Does Teletraan show a ship in space?:: Prowl asked, wondering why their satellite hadn't detected anything.

::There _is_ a fuzzy reading, sir,:: Wheeljack replied. ::The solar flare from this afternoon is still making for spotty reception, though. I keep losing the connection, but Teletraan managed to snap a shot of its ID. The image is blurry, but it looks like AAC A-19.::

Prowl frowned at Prime, then glanced across the room, catching Jazz's gaze. He tilted his head toward the door, and as one they all three headed for the hallway, trying to slip from the party without disrupting it. Prowl opened his line to include Jazz in the conversation before asking Wheeljack his next question. ::Does A-19 check out?::

::Yes, sir. A-19 hasn't been reported captured, and he hails from our Tau Ceti research base.::

"Tau Ceti?" Jazz murmured aloud, clearly curious.

Once they were in the hall, Optimus rushed toward the _Ark's_ entrance, and Prowl and Jazz had to jog to keep up with him. ::Who's on sentry duty?:: Prime asked.

::Cliffjumper and Brawn.:: Wheeljack's pure professionalism wiped out his usual cheerfulness. ::I gave the shuttle permission to land, but I've ordered Cliffjumper and Brawn to meet them and to help Cosmos retain them at the main blast doors.::

Prowl nodded once to himself. As scatter-processored as Wheeljack could be in his lab, he was collected and logical when he had the con. ::Good. Send Ironhide as well, and keep trying to get a better reading on that ship.::

::Acknowledged, sir. Wheeljack out.::

Footsteps rang on the deckplates behind them, and Prowl glanced over his shoulder, realizing they were being followed.

Sunstreaker glared at him as he caught up with them. "Hey, who's crashing our party?" He paused, then added as an afterthought, "Sir."

"We're not entirely sure," Prowl admitted. "They identified as Autobots, but we're not expecting anyone. Prepare yourself for an altercation."

He nodded once, sharply.

Jazz gave him a small smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry about this, Sunny. It's yer party and all."

"Well, whoever it is will pay," Sunstreaker muttered, although he sounded a touch distracted.

Optimus, Prowl, Jazz, and Sunstreaker stopped at the closed blast doors and waited until Ironhide joined them before opening them. Brawn and Cliffjumper had already gone out to meet Cosmos by the parked mini-shuttle, and Prowl watched their sentries escort three mechs to the _Ark._ When they were close enough for Prowl to make out their faces, he couldn't stop the gasp that came to his lips. They were mechs he hadn't spoken to in millennia: Blackjack, Tailwind, and Detour.

"My apologies for causing such a stir, sir," Blackjack drawled, his gaze landing on Prime. His broad black frame seemed to rival Ironhide's. "We'd have given you more forewarning of our approach had we not been assaulted by the Decepticons just outside of the solar system. We still haven't gotten our communications back up."

Prowl frowned, not buying it for an instant. Even if they were Autobots and allies, they should have asked Prime's permission to come to Earth at all.

Detour, his blue optics narrowed, was smirking at Prowl. "It's nice to see, ah—" His yellow doorwings flicked upward. "—another fellow _Praxian_, though."

Tailwind, who to Prowl's surprise was now navy blue instead of the silver he remembered, was openly sizing up the silent twin at Prowl's side. "Sunstreaker, is it not? Of the famous split-spark twins?" He rubbed his chin with his forefinger, seemingly deep in thought.

The universe stopped.

Prowl glared at the three intruders, all of them Praxians he'd hoped to never see or meet ever again. An entire ice planet seemed to form in his spark chamber, and for a scant moment, he wanted to kill them on sight. He hated everything about them: their hidden agendas, their audacity in calling themselves Autobots, and most of all the death and destruction they represented. Sadly, no one present, not even Optimus, understood what danger had just entered their base. As far as Prowl was concerned, he'd rather have Megatron breach their parameter, but the others would innocently welcome them as comrades.

_The Praxus Special Forces have caught up with me,_ Prowl thought, mortified, and wondered how in Primus' name he would ever be able to save the twins.

* * *

_Postscript: Mood music for the chapter is "I'm Alive" by Disturbed and can be heard here, just take out the spaces in the address:_ http : / www .youtube. com/ watch # ! v = WJ-2J0b1uS0 & feature = related

_"It's my obligation  
to never again allow this to happen.  
Where do I begin? [. . .]  
The thing I treasure most in life cannot be taken away;  
there will never be a reason why I will surrender to your advice  
to change myself. I'd rather die.  
Though they'll not understand,  
I will make the greatest sacrifice.  
You can't predict where the outcome lies.  
You'll never take me alive."  
~"I'm Alive," Disturbed_


	2. One Witness is not a Witness

_A/N: Bits and pieces of this story have been inspired over the course of an entire year by Asher119's "Unintended," Asher119's "Crash into You," Ryagelle's "Cave Canem," Lune Nightingale's "Light of the Sun," Ariel-D's "A Bond So Special," Ante Luce's "Methods of Persuasion," and Taralynden's "Sanopi." (Seriously. An entire year. I've been mentally compiling this story since May 2009. By the time I began this chapter, I'd taken 14,000 words of notes and outlines. It's my baby!)_

_This chapter references the episode "Day of the Machines." Thank you to everyone for the reviews! Everyone should have received a PM this time.  
_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 2: Testis Unus, Testis Nullus  
**__**or One Witness is Not a Witness**_

As Prime led their impromptu 'visitors' to his office, Prowl glared at the backs of their helms. He'd known Blackjack as codename and rank C3, the clever, calculating, sparkless third-in-command of the Praxus Special Forces. Detour had been codename O7, a special operations handler, terribly vain and self-centered. Tailwind had been R10, a chemist, and his research skills had been matched only by his scheming. Prowl had hated them all, and he wasn't any happier to see them now. He'd kept tabs on them for six million stellar cycles and resumed shortly after coming out of stasis, and he wasn't convinced their secret agenda had ever changed.

Fortunately, they didn't recognize Prowl at all. When they had known him, his name had not been Prowl nor had his paint been black and white, and doorwings were common to all Information Models in Praxus, hardly the kind of defining feature that would make Prowl stand out.

Ironhide and Sunstreaker flanked the 'visitors,' and Jazz followed one step behind Prowl, no doubt sizing up the new mechs. Prowl, and likely Jazz as well, had already accessed Teletraan and pulled up their records. Blackjack was listed as the commander in charge of Base Ceti, a research facility in the Tau Ceti system. Detour was listed as his second-in-command and Tailwind as his chief science officer. To have them leave their research facility and travel to Earth portended, in Prowl's processor, nothing but trouble. Prowl had ordered Wheeljack to contact Ultra Magnus on Cybertron to get more information on the current status of Base Ceti. Teletraan's databanks had yet to completely update despite a constant download stream from Iacon. Four million stellar cycles of information was a ludicrous amount, after all.

"In here," Prime said, keying in his office's security code. He swept into the room, the visitors following.

Prowl nodded to Ironhide to stand guard, then turned to Sunstreaker. "I summoned Warpath relieve you. As soon as he arrives, return to your party."

"Thank you, sir." Sunstreaker didn't smile, but his features were less severe than normal.

Prowl followed Jazz into Prime's office. At Optimus' gesture, Blackjack and Detour had taken the two chairs across from Prime's desk, and Prime sat as well. Tailwind hovered at Detour's side like a tall, spindly, blue statue. Prowl jerked his chin toward Blackjack, and Jazz nodded, taking position behind Blackjack while Prowl stood behind Detour and Tailwind.

"Forgive our leeriness," Prime said, "but standard procedure is just that: standard."

"I understand, sir," Blackjack drawled, leaning back in his chair. "After all, normally we would've commed you when we entered the system."

Prowl felt his doorwings hike up. "Normally, you would have secured Prime's permission to come in the first place." His tone held enough ice to freeze over the volcano.

Blackjack glanced over his shoulder lazily. For someone with such a huge, bulky, black frame, he managed to seem oddly graceful. "True, _Sokii_ Prowl."

Hiding his reaction at hearing the defunct Praxian dialect, Prowl pretended not to understand, knowing that Blackjack was checking to see if he were ex-PSF. The Praxus Special Forces had prided themselves on using the dialect, and therefore Prowl suspected ex-PSF members still used it to find each other. "_'Sokii'_? Is that ancient Cybertronian?"

"Means 'officer'," Detour answered with a smirk. His bright yellow doorwings fluttered in clear mirth, and Prowl knew he was being laughed at. To the three visitors, he was now a 'pixie' — a Praxian civilian, someone hadn't been in the PSF. No, he was worse than that. In their minds he was a 'pixer,' a mech who hadn't been good enough to qualify for the PSF and had joined the Autobot army instead.

Beside Prowl, Jazz stiffened, clearly catching the disdain.

"Explain why you didn't contact me for my permission, then." Prime pulled the attention back to himself. Steel underlay his polite tone.

Blackjack inclined his boxy head to Prime. "Three decaorns ago, Decepticon raiders attacked our base. We suspect they were sent by Shockwave, who has shown past interest in stealing our projects and findings. Sadly, we're too far from Cybertron's position to get timely help." Blackjack's tone grew somber and his voice quiet. "Only nine of us survived."

Detour's doorwings drooped, and Tailwind dropped his head to stare at the floor.

Prowl could only see topnotch acting, and he noted that Blackjack had technically dodged the question.

However, Prime leaned forward. "I'm sorry," he replied softly. "Tell me what happened."

"Once they breached our base, one 'Con team went straight for our mainframe and began downloading information." Blackjack's tone remained grim. "We didn't determine what. I collected the survivors and escaped. One of us, Flattop, can transform into a mid-sized shuttle. Nightflight, who is ex-special ops, generated a distraction and set up a bomb to detonate our weapons' cache once we were clear. We'd learned of your survival here on Earth, and Earth is far closer to Tau Ceti than Cybertron's current position. We headed here, only to be attacked once again by one of Megatron's teams just outside the solar system."

"We'll have to verify your claims, of course." Prime sounded almost but not quite apologetic. "With Megatron scheming under our noses, we can't be too careful."

_It's not Megatron you have to worry about this time,_ Prowl thought, frowning. He was disgusted by how easily they could generate a cover story. He knew they had to be there for the twins; all he couldn't figure out was the timing. They'd been back online for a stellar cycle, after all. For that matter, the twins had joined the Autobots shortly after Optimus had become Prime. Their existence wasn't a secret.

"I understand." Blackjack smiled, but even though he could only see his profile, Prowl could detect the fakeness. "If you clear us, I have a request. Nightflight and our Security Chief, Storm Cloud, have opted to remain on Flattop in orbit, but I hesitate to leave my mechs cooped up on such a small shuttle. I want to ask your permission to allow Hyperdrive, Road Hugger, and Whisper to come planet-side. Hyperdrive is a skilled warrior; he can help battle Megatron's forces. Road Hugger is a topnotch mechanical engineer, and I'm sure he and your chief engineer could find a project to work on. Whisper is a talented medic, and those are always in short supply."

_M4?_ Prowl thought, disgusted. He'd hated medics for a long time thanks to the PSF medical researchers, and he'd especially despised the mech codenamed M4.

"I'll consider your request if we clear you." Prime clasped his hands on his desk.

Prowl relayed Blackjack's story to Wheeljack for verification, then listened with one audio as Blackjack described Base Ceti's work on a matter transporter and his conjecture about Shockwave's interest in it. Six ex-PSF agents running around the _Ark_? With three more in orbit? It was unthinkable. He glanced at Jazz, wondering what his friend was thinking. Jazz's posture was unusually rigid, a faint frown pulling at his lips. At least Prowl wasn't the only one displeased.

Finally, Prime's terminal beeped, and he turned toward it, switching on the comm. link. "Prime here."

Wheeljack's face appeared on the monitor. "Ultra Magnus verifies that Base Ceti was destroyed by the 'Cons three decaorns ago. He dispatched a team to answer the distress call, but by the time the Wreckers arrived, only burnt-out buildings remained. Ultra Magnus received a coded message from Blackjack indicating he meant to take the survivors to Earth, but he couldn't raise Flattop on comms. No survivors were found at the base."

"I see." Prime's voice dropped half an octave in clear grief. "Thank you, Wheeljack. Prime out." He closed the channel and turned back to Blackjack. "I'm terribly sorry for the loss of so many of our mechs."

Blackjack nodded.

Prime sighed heavily. "However, standard procedure mandates that Ratchet and Hoist will have to scan all of you for enemy technology before we can release you to the base at large. You may bring the three mechs you mentioned down here, but you must stay confined to quarters and under guard until we're sure you're clean."

"Of course, sir." Blackjack was the picture of cooperation and respect.

_And just like that they sink in their fingers,_ Prowl thought, his suspicions not alleviated. One-fourth of the mechs stationed at Ceti had been ex-PSF, and although nothing incriminating had ever occurred there, Prowl knew all too well what kind of mechs they had been. At least he had the answer to his first question: the reason they'd chosen now to hone in on the twins was because they had suffered a setback and lost their facilities. They'd have to begin anew or perhaps resurrect an unfinished project.

Optimus turned his attention to Jazz. "Jazz, please take our visitors to the guest quarters. Prowl, remain here."

Prowl caught Jazz's gaze. "Be sure Ironhide and Warpath accompany you." He didn't bother to mask the coldness of his tone.

"Yes, sir." Jazz gestured for Blackjack, Detour, and Tailgate to precede him from the room.

Prowl watched them leave and then turned back to Optimus. "Sir?"

Prime leaned back in his chair. "I know you, Prowl. You're not happy with this. Talk to me."

Prowl's doorwings slumped faintly. How could he even begin to explain? "Sir . . . do you remember the Praxus Special Forces trial at the end of the Golden Age?"

"I was still a dock worker at the time. Still Orion Pax." Optimus interlaced his fingers over his grille. "It was mentioned in the headlines, but no details were ever released. I admit I paid little attention. Why?"

Prowl reached up and pressed his fingers to one temple. His processor felt like it would overheat. How did he warn his Prime? There was no evidence he'd ever been near the PSF; all the records had been expunged. "Eight medics, six scientists, two engineers, and three commanders in the PSF were put on trial for conducting illegal spark experiments on split-spark twins that caused the deaths of nine sets of twins. They were found guilty of eighteen counts of second degree murder. They were executed."

"And how does that connect to the three Praxians who just left this room?" Prime asked.

Prowl steeled himself. "The Autobot undercover agent the Enforcers planted in the PSF testified that the entire PSF command structure and the entire Science and Medical division knew about the experiments. However, no hard evidence of their involvement could be secured, and the charges against the other PSF agents were dismissed. Our new visitors were all in the PSF." He frowned, knowing that they likely all still were PSF in the sense that it had been as much a secret society as a Special Forces division.

"But never convicted of wrongdoing," Optimus said. "And you must admit that not everyone in the PSF would automatically know. As commander of this base, I didn't know about Wheeljack's spark displacement experiments until you told me because he was conducting them in his free time. When I asked Skyfire about the experiments earlier out of curiosity, he had no idea Wheeljack and Perceptor were working on such a thing despite being their fellow scientist."

Logically, Optimus was right. Factually, Prowl knew better. He only lacked the evidence. "I know that, sir, but —"

"It's not like you to be illogical, Prowl," Prime said, sitting up straight. "Besides, that trial concluded ten million stellar cycles ago. Mechs change. A fair number of Autobots have a less than shining pre-war record. Jazz was a petty thief as a youngling. Ironhide served time for accidental mech-slaughter. Smokescreen was convicted of illegal gambling, and Trailbreaker served time for obstruction of justice during the arrest of his brother. You know this, but you don't judge their current behavior through the lens of their past actions. All those crimes were committed nine to ten million stellar cycles ago. They certainly don't impact their performances now."

Prowl grew stiff, drawing up to his full height and lifting his doorwings high on his back. He suspected he'd get nowhere without hard evidence, and there was a small chance he was being biased. However, he was utterly unwilling to take any chances. "I only ask, sir, that you keep a close optic on our twins. They're the only set of split-spark twins left in the universe. If there is even a one-in-a-trillion chance that these researchers might have an interest in that old project, our twins would be in mortal danger." He hated, absolutely _hated_ looking emotional or irrational in front of his Prime. He believed it made him seem hysterical and weak. But he'd let himself look like a fool, a traitor, an aft, or a nutcase if it meant stopping the torture and murder of the twins.

"If you feel it is that important," Prime conceded, although he sounded unconvinced. "Now go oversee the arrival of the other three mechs."

"Yes, sir." Prowl snapped about and exited, worried that his reaction appeared to be mere prejudice. He opened his comm. link, suspecting the twins' party was over and wanting them in a safe place. Perhaps he'd assign them to the command deck while the transfer and scanning of all these mechs took place.

His comm. call went unanswered. With a surge of panic, Prowl queried Teletraan for the twins' whereabouts, and even after learning they were in their quarters, decided to check on them. This was the PSF, after all. Breaking into private quarters would be a sparkling's task to them.

oOoOo

Although he'd enjoyed his spark-date party immensely, Sideswipe was exhausted by the time he and Smokescreen left. Sunstreaker and Bluestreak had departed a breem earlier, and all Sideswipe could think about was getting back to his brother. He hid his exhaustion from his lover, not wanting Smokescreen to think the night had been anything other than the perfection that it was. Minus the weird interruption midway through, of course. Sunstreaker had returned after only two breems and indicated things were fine, so Sideswipe hadn't worried about that.

After saying goodnight to Smokescreen, Sideswipe stumbled into the quarters he shared with Sunstreaker and found his twin waiting for him. "Primus," he muttered, turning off his comm. link in a fit of pique. He did _not_ want any interruptions. "We let it go too long this time."

"Blue asked again why I couldn't move in with him," Sunstreaker said nonchalantly. His gaze remained on several bright murals of Cybertron he'd done since awakening on Earth. He'd painted them directly onto their cabin walls. His entire demeanor screamed 'uninterested,' but Sideswipe could feel it was a lie.

To an eavesdropper, Sunstreaker's reply would sound like a non sequitur, but Sideswipe knew what he meant. "I'm not looking forward to trying to explain this to Smokey," Sideswipe agreed. "Although not moving in with Blue is probably saving you from The Wrath of Prowl." The words came out angrier and more serious than he intended. He'd wanted so much to dance with Prowl at their party, but that was impossible. Sideswipe could just imagine Prowl's optic ridge arching in disbelief, and he didn't think he could take the rejection.

Sunstreaker scowled and faced his brother. "I know."

The answer was not to Sideswipe's words but rather his frustrated feelings. With a sigh out his vents, he plopped onto his berth and rested his hand over his spark. "Slaggit, bro. It _hurts._" He wasn't sure if he meant his spark being out of calibration or the unnamable need he felt around Prowl sometimes. Both, really. Seeing Prowl dance with Bluestreak made his circuits burn, but he couldn't hold it against the gunner. Their days of pranking Bluestreak out of jealousy were long past.

"We should have recalibrated before the party." Sunstreaker stood and joined him on his berth. "Ratchet warned us that we were getting too out of synch."

Sideswipe slumped against his brother's shoulder. "I know, I know. I just got so distracted." Hearing the medic's name gave him sudden inspiration, however. "Maybe we should have Ratchet be present when we explain this to Smokey and Blue."

"Ratchet barely accepts it himself." Sunstreaker snorted. "Sucks being the only twins left. I'm tired of being afraid everyone will think we're freaks."

Sideswipe wrapped his arm around his brother's waist and curled into his frame. "I will never understand it." They'd tried to research the phenomenon of split-spark twins a dozen times, tried to find some evidence that this need to recalibrate their sparks was normal. "Why is there so little information? Why are there gaps in the medical banks? Why are there no other twins? Why just us!"

Sunstreaker growled softly as Sideswipe's frustration transferred through their bond, but he still encircled Sideswipe's shoulders with his arm. "I don't know. Ratchet doesn't know. Prime doesn't even know! All there is out there is that bit about that one trial."

"It's too slaggin' freaky." Sideswipe wasn't sure what disturbed him more: the fact that most of the information on split-spark twins had been lost or that there had once been a trial concerning the murder of nine sets of twins. The details of the trial had been sealed, but Sideswipe's best guess was that it had been a serial killer. He'd never been able to find anyone who had been present for the trial, and the Greater Cybertron News Service had apparently been banned from filming it or publishing details.

"Whatever." Sunstreaker sighed out his vents. "Even if we can never find a single record that other twins had to do this, we know what happens if we try to ignore it. If they love us, Blue and Smokey will just have to accept it."

Sideswipe nodded and tried to focus his attention only on his brother. Their adoptive creator, Kup, had once caught them realigning and recalibrating their sparks, but since they were spark merging, he'd assumed they were 'facing each other. A landslide of yelling, accusations, back-talking, and insults had ensued, resulting in a lingering sense of shame. It had almost destroyed their relationship with Kup, and even now they weren't as close as they'd been when the twins were sparklings. Then again, most of Kup's energy now went to his third adopted creation, Hot Rod.

"Don't think about that," Sunstreaker whispered, turning to cup Sideswipe's cheek. "At least Ratchet believes us. He's seen the proof." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to his brother's helm.

Proof, indeed. Sideswipe shuddered at the memory. They'd been sent out on separate teams, and Sideswipe's team had been trapped behind enemy lines. By the time he'd been rescued and halfway rebuilt due to his injuries, Sideswipe's spark energy had grown so far out of alignment with Sunstreaker's that he'd been seizing on the medberth. Sunstreaker, who had been trembling on his feet from the physical strain, had raced into the room, knocked Ratchet aside, and merged sparks right then and there.

"We won't ever let it get that bad again." Sunstreaker's quiet voice interrupted his brother's memories, and he pushed Sideswipe back on the berth. "Ratchet knows better now, and Prowl always sends us on long-range missions together, anyway."

Sideswipe pulled his brother down on top of him, spreading his legs so Sunstreaker could settle comfortably. Running his arms around Sunstreaker's shoulders, he smiled. Sideswipe loved these moments when they were close, when their attention was solely focused on each other, when they were _one_ again. As much as he was _in_ love with Smokescreen and enjoyed joining their bodies together, that oneness was not the same. His half of their spark _needed_ Sunstreaker's half — needed it spiritually, needed it emotionally, and even needed it physically, if the strange pains they felt were any indication. He grinned at this brother. "Take me." It was a joke, and yet it wasn't.

Sunstreaker snorted, but a genuine smile bent up his lips. He transformed his chest armor, folding it away from his spark, and Sideswipe did the same. Their sparks surged toward each other immediately, sensing their other half, and blue tendrils of energy began to connect them. Sunstreaker gasped, and Sideswipe couldn't stop a soft moan from escaping. Bluestreak and Smokescreen would likely be roused from recharge and end up experiencing a _long,_ passionate night. The aftereffect was basically inescapable.

With a growl of impatience, Sunstreaker crashed their chests together, and Sideswipe arched into him, releasing his entire essence to his brother. The strange sensation of wrongness they carried with them, so faint they could usually ignore it, reinforced itself sharply, then the separation between them snapped out of existence like a flimsy dam collapsing under a raging river. A feeling of rightness, of wholeness, of completion washed through them as their emotions and thoughts intermingled, and they collectively sighed in relief. Their spark energies swirled together, balancing each other, synchronizing frequencies, and harmonizing flows. The physical pain slowly building within them ceased.

Too soon, their sparks retracted, having aligned themselves completely, and the twins lay still, Sunstreaker's face buried in the crook of Sideswipe's neck. They didn't even bother to close their chest armor as the relief continued to wash through them in waves.

Belatedly, they realized a thumping sound radiated through their quarters. _What is that?_ they wondered simultaneously, not entirely reconnected with reality yet. _Oh, knocking. No . . . pounding. Someone is pounding on our door._ About the moment they realized that should worry them, the sound of beeping followed, like someone was inputting a code to their keypad. _Command override!_ they thought in sudden panic, and Sunstreaker jerked back as they initiated the sequence to close their chests.

Their door swished open, and a clearly agitated Prowl barged into the room. "Why are your com — " He halted mid-step and mid-word, staring at them.

Sideswipe hurriedly closed his chest plates, but the evidence was altogether damning. Prowl had seen their spark chambers open, and Sunstreaker was still poised between his thighs. Sunstreaker pushed himself off his brother and jumped to his feet, sinking into an attack stance. Protective instinct seemed to war with military decorum for a klik, then Sunstreaker straightened and came to attention.

With utter dread, Sideswipe climbed off his berth and came to attention as well. His energon pounded through his lines so hard his processor seemed to ring from the force. It was just like the time with Kup, except worse. Kup's love they already had, and despite it all, they always would. Prowl's respect, though, was something they had yet to win, much less his care. Sideswipe cursed himself for wanting to be special to Prowl, but he couldn't stop himself and neither could Sunstreaker. But now . . .

Would Prowl yell? Ice over into cold disdain? Cite every law, rule, code, and regulation applicable? Throw them in the brig? Tell Prime? Announce to the whole crew what freaks they were? And would Ratchet be able to stop the onslaught, even slow it down? Sideswipe swallowed a whimper of pain and fear, trying hard to keep his expression neutral despite the way his body began to tremble.

Prowl, though, did none of that. He seemed to unfreeze all at once, as though jerking himself away from a processor crash. "I realize this is an imposition considering it's your spark-date, but I need you on the command deck. We have three 'visitors' on base now and three on their way, and until medical declares them clean, we have them under guard. You are to monitor the comms and man Teletraan until we're finished."

Sideswipe reeled from shock. Prowl wasn't even going to comment on what he'd seen?

Sunstreaker recovered first. "Why aren't we on guard duty instead, sir?"

"I already have that covered." Prowl glanced between them. "And don't you dare turn off your comm. links like that again. That is against procedure, and I will not tolerate it. This is your only warning. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Sideswipe said, abashed.

Sunstreaker jerked faintly, as though stunned they weren't getting more thoroughly dressed down. "Yes, sir."

Prowl nodded once, then headed from the cabin.

"Sir?" Sideswipe called after him, his voice too faint for his liking.

Prowl stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"About what you saw . . ." Sideswipe internally cringed, wondering how to explain it succinctly.

"Saw what?" Prowl's doorwings perked faintly, the same way did when he chose to overlook something for the sake of morale. He swept from the room without further comment.

Sideswipe traded a stunned look with Sunstreaker. "What the frag? It's like he didn't care!"

Sunstreaker shook his head. "I don't know, bro."

Granted, Sideswipe wasn't about to complain, but it was a great mystery. Incest was illegal, and more than that, Bluestreak was like Prowl's adopted sparkling. He should have been furious on at least two counts.

It didn't make sense.

oOoOo

Optimus stared at Ratchet's hastily complied report. It had taken three joors for the med team to scan the six mechs, and it was now the middle of the night. Although Prime should have been in recharge long since, he was once again awake and working while all but the third shift rested. But he had the knowledge he needed: the Base Ceti mechs were bug-free. No doubt a better-written and more detailed report would be submitted to Prowl in the morning, but for now the basics would do: the 'Cons hadn't captured and tampered with them before sending them on to Earth.

Prowl . . .

With a deep sigh, Optimus opened his comm. link. ::Prime to Prowl.::

A cold, no-nonsense voice answered him. ::Prowl here.::

Optimus flinched. It had taken millions of stellar cycles to move past Prowl's barriers and befriend the mech. He had persevered, having sensed Prowl's deep care and dedication hiding underneath the stoic mask of efficiency and command. That icy tone, though, slammed the door in Prime's face. It wouldn't do. His grief over Elita's death was slowly being drained of its sting by Prowl's kindness, attentiveness, and sheer concern. Prime was falling in love with his SIC, and he didn't think he could handle losing that quiet affection. Not on top of the gouge in his spark created by Elita's death. ::Report to my office immediately.::

::Aye, sir. Prowl out.:: The link went dead.

Leaning back in his chair, Prime offlined his optics and tilted back his head. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to fall in love. Prowl had become his senior tactician when Erector had vanished during a mission in the beta quadrant, and he'd become the SIC shortly thereafter when Oiler had led an attack in the beta quadrant and gone missing as well. Between the two missions, 36 mechs had been listed MIA and assumed dead. Prowl had stepped into the void, having been given a field promotion to Colonel, and literally did the job of two mechs. Although Prowl's 'cold' logic and rationality had initially clashed with Prime's warm, heartfelt emotionalism, Optimus had seen that they balanced each other. Optimus bolstered morale, took care of his troops, and looked to the future. Meanwhile, Prowl planned the battles, protected the Autobot institution, and focused on the small details of the present. They complemented each other perfectly.

Prime's door chime buzzed, and he onlined his optics and hit the switch. "Come in."

Prowl stepped into the office, his shoulders held back and his doorwings arched high. His face was a picture of nothing. No emotions, no hint of frustration or anger. Just stoic blankness. "You wished to see me, sir?"

The sight hurt Prime's spark. They were more than a good command team, he'd realized. It was a balance that extended right into their personal lives: Optimus was extroverted, drawing Prowl to him in some inexplicable way. Prowl was quiet, steady, and strong, his calmness and determination pulling on Prime like a magnet. The truth had crystallized earlier that night as Optimus had held Prowl in his arms, his warm armor brushing against Prime's. He'd wanted to kiss him, to hold him and cherish him forever.

No, he definitely couldn't lose that.

"Enough with the military decorum." Prime turned to his terminal and logged them both off-duty. "So I take it that our guests still disturb you despite Ratchet's initial report."

"Yes, sir." Those tense doorwings remained perked high.

"Please don't call me 'sir.' We're off duty," Optimus reminded him gently. "Prowl, were you one of the Enforcers working the PSF case all those millennia ago? Is that why you don't trust them?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched. "I was involved. I'm sorry I can't offer you direct proof. My involvement in that case has been erased, just like most of the trial's records have been sealed."

"I see." _Did he go undercover?_ Optimus wondered. _Was he the Autobot undercover agent he mentioned earlier?_ It made a certain amount of sense. Prowl was Praxian, after all, and who else would the PSF have accepted other than a Praxian? He decided to ask.

However, Prowl spoke first. "As Prime, you should be able to unseal the records of the trial and read them for yourself. Then you would understand my concern." He paused, frowning. "And you have to admit it's odd that Blackjack radioed his intentions to Ultra Magnus but didn't bother to radio them to you. In addition to being a breach of protocol, it simply doesn't make sense. It's like they didn't want you to know they were coming."

"Very well. I'll look into it." Optimus knew Prowl had a point, and he'd have to pursue it. Later. Right now something else bothered him far more. He stood and walked around his desk, trying to physically close the mental gap between them. "Please don't think I'm questioning your motives. I know how much you care for the mechs under your command, even if you aren't effusive about it."

Prowl's gaze lowered. "I understand. In your place, I'd do the same."

Optimus paused. Prowl's reaction _was_ odd. He usually relied solely on logic and evidence and never made quick claims. "You're in charge of the schedules. Do what you think is necessary to keep the twins away from our guests. Just don't make it obvious." He watched those rigid doorwings lower only slightly. "But let's leave this alone for now. We're off duty, and we've been cheated out of joors of recharge."

"Indeed." Prowl turned, as though taking the words as a dismissal.

Prime, though, hadn't intended them as such. "But Prowl, I'm not your enemy." He retracted his battle mask, one of the few times he'd done so in Prowl's presence, and let his concern and care be displayed openly.

Prowl turned back and stared up at him, his optics flaring bright momentarily. "Of course not." His voice wasn't much more than a whisper.

Neither was Prime's. "This has nothing to do with my estimation of you professionally; it's only a matter of evidence and procedure. I care about your opinion. I care about _you_." Optimus smiled at him. "Now what do you say? Let's get some rest." He closed his mask and gestured for Prowl to accompany him out of the room.

Prowl nodded and headed out the door, Optimus at his side. Prime scrambled to change the topic to something that would lighten Prowl's mood. "The twins' party seemed to go well. Everyone seemed to have fun and decompress a bit."

"Yes, I'm glad it wasn't too disrupted." Prowl still didn't smile. "I was surprised Sunstreaker followed us out, and I had to wonder if he was going to pound our 'visitors' into the ground for the interruption."

Optimus chuckled. "I wouldn't put it past him." They climbed on the elevator, which was abandoned at this time of night, and chose the officers quarters' level. "I was also quite pleased that they opted to begin with traditional dancing. It's been vorns since I've been able to dance."

Finally a small smile quirked up the corners of Prowl's mouth. "Indeed."

Struck through the spark, Optimus wondered if Prowl knew how handsome he was when he smiled. "You're an extremely talented dancer. I could have danced with you all night." _Although your skill has nothing to do with my desire to do so._

Prowl continued to smile, but he abruptly looked away. "Thank you."

Wishing there was something he could do to help Prowl relax, Optimus raked his gaze over his secret love. Those damnable doorwings were still tense and arched high, so Prime reached out and caressed one softly, urging it to lower. The panel trembled under his touch and pressed against his hand as though it had its own processor. That faint response sent a wave of heat and desire crashing through Prime's systems. After their dancing earlier, he desperately wanted Prowl to know just how much he really did care.

Prowl's optics dimmed abruptly, and his lips opened in a silent gasp. "Optimus . . ."

"I apologize." Dropping his hand quickly, Prime rushed to pull himself together. "I didn't realize doorwings were so sensitive." In truth, he would give anything to be able to hold Prowl, kiss him, even make love to him, but he had no idea whether his feelings were returned. Granted, Prowl had danced with him, but he'd also danced with Jazz and several others.

"It's all right." Prowl seemed to be pulling himself together as well, and his doorwings finally eased into their normal position.

Optimus had to wonder if anyone's touch on Prowl's doorwings would elicit such a reaction or if it was just his own. He would have given much for it to be just his.

oOoOo

When Jazz entered the rec room that morning and didn't see Prowl, he suspected right away that his friend had been up half the night dealing with the new guests. Prowl had clearly not been pleased with the interruption or the visitors themselves, and Jazz couldn't really blame him. They oozed disdain, and explanation or not, Jazz didn't like the fact they'd sauntered right into the _Ark's_ airspace unannounced.

Waving at Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor as he passed their table, Jazz grabbed two energon cubes at the dispenser. The twins and their lovers were conspicuously absent, probably having overslept, but Jazz nodded to Hound, Mirage, and Trailbreaker as he left. The rec room was unusually empty, and Jazz considered the possibility there were a record number of hangovers. Also conspicuous in their absence were their guests.

Jazz ambled through the hallways, heading toward Prowl's office. A grin lingered on his lips as he put their visitors out of mind and focused instead on the memory of dancing with Prowl. Prowl's arm had been so strong wrapped around his waist, his relaxed smile beautiful on his face. Jazz could still feel Prowl's warmth against his frame, and he shivered faintly in happiness. When they'd awakened on Earth, Jazz had decided to act on his carefully hidden feelings and begun flirting with Prowl. Four millennia in stasis was a significant wakeup-call. If Jazz continued to tell himself to wait until the war was over to date Prowl, he might end up with nothing at all. Granted, if their relationship failed, it might complicate their professional lives, but Jazz told himself to assume nothing. There was nothing sadder than a missed chance.

Reaching Prowl's office, Jazz balanced one cube on top of the other and buzzed the door chime.

"Enter," came Prowl's tired, clipped voice.

_Ooooh,_ Jazz thought, concerned. _Someone needs stress relief._ He stepped inside as soon as the door slid open. "Heya, Prowler. Long night?" He took in the sight of his friend slumped over his desk, his doorwings hiked up high on his back. _Not good._

Prowl snapped his terminal off and sighed. "Yes." He gave Jazz his full attention as he handed him an energon cube and then settled in the chair across the desk.

Leaning back in the chair, Jazz propped his feet on the desk's edge. He wasn't on duty until second shift, so he could hang out in Prowl's office until Prowl kicked him out. "Talk to me, man. What's up with the colossal afts?"

"They're ex-Praxus Special Forces." Prowl smirked, taking a sip from his cube. "But I'm guessing you've already discovered that."

Jazz snorted. "Yeah. I went through their records. Fraggin' PSF. Always thought they were better than everyone else. Especially us CAF spec ops 'bots." The mere thought of it irritated him. "I never understood it. I mean, the PSF was a subdivision of the Cybertronian Armed Forces. Isn't an Autobot an Autobot? Why all the fraggin' snobbery?"

"The Wreckers sometimes give us attitude," Prowl said, only to smack down his cube. "But that is the problem! The PSF didn't really see itself as part of the CAF. They truly thought they were superior by sparkright, and special ops agents from the CAF were more like enemies to compete against than the allies they should have been. At least the Wreckers view themselves as part of the Autobot Army."

Jazz snorted again, still irritated. "I can take down a Wrecker any orn of the decaorn. Held my own against the PSF agents I ran into, too." He tilted his chair back and balanced it on two legs. "But with the PSF defunct, why're these guys still puttin' on airs? They were just shy of insubordination with ya, and they totally snubbed me when I took them to their quarters. I almost put them all three through the bulkhead."

Reaching up to rub his fingers against his temples, Prowl offlined his optics briefly. "Just because the PSF was destroyed along with Praxus doesn't mean the survivors don't still see themselves as PSF. It doesn't matter that we incorporated them into the Autobots. They were very insular. Obviously they still are."

Jazz frowned, suspecting Prowl's processor was overheating from stress. "Hey, ya don't really care if mechs snub ya, so why do these afts upset ya so much?"

"Do you remember the PSF trial at the end of the Golden Age?" Prowl looked up and met Jazz's gaze. The frustration radiated off him.

"Nah, not in any detail." Jazz shrugged. "I wasn't even in the Academy when that happened. I was too busy stealin' energon so I could stay _alive_ long enough to _get_ into the Academy in the first place. I didn't pay attention to the wider world."

Prowl's voice softened. "You know I don't care about your past, right?"

"Of course." If Jazz was certain of anything in the universe, it was Prowl's unwavering belief in him.

"I care about these mechs' pasts." Prowl straightened his shoulders. "They weren't involved in that trial only because there wasn't enough evidence to indict them. To this orn, I am not convinced they're innocent. Nor am I convinced they're above board now."

In his shock, Jazz thunked his chair back to the floor. "Whoa, Prowler! That's quite an accusation." Prowl never shot off at the mouth, never said anything he couldn't prove with either evidence or logic. "What're ya sayin'?"

Prowl slumped. "That trial was concerning the torture and murder of split-spark twins in illegal spark experiments performed by the PSF's Science and Medical division. I'm concerned for the safety of our twins."

Jazz frowned, the idea of such murders disturbing him. Still . . . "That's a bit of a logical jump, especially for _you._ Got any evidence?"

Prowl propped his elbows on his desk and buried his face in his hands. "No. Not yet."

"Hey, that don't mean that we can't look out for Sunny and Sides, though," Jazz said. "Primus knows they're good enough at gettin' themselves in trouble without any help."

Prowl leaned back and lifted his face again. "Thank you. I'd really appreciate it if you kept your optic on them. And our 'guests.'" He frowned.

Jazz had to admit his first impression of the Base Ceti mechs hadn't been a good one. "Ya know I _always_ keep my optic on everyone. Especially mechs I don't know."

Prowl smiled at him, some of the frustration draining from his face. He drank the rest of his energon in just a few, short gulps, then stood to carry the empty cube to the recycling chute in the wall.

Jazz stood as well and intercepted him. "Hey, man, I got it." He reached out and grabbed the cube, their fingers accidentally brushing in the process.

For a moment, Prowl gazed down at Jazz, and they seemed to freeze. Ever since they'd danced, Jazz's daydreams of kissing or making love with Prowl had multiplied. He didn't want to push Prowl, and in his perfect dream-space, Prowl would grab him when he was ready and kiss him senseless. But his dream seemed to be pressing out into reality: Prowl was studying his face, and even as Jazz watched he lifted his hand toward his cheek.

Prowl's external comm. link flared to life, interrupting the moment. ::Perceptor to Prowl. Tailwind is in my lab, asking for space for RoadHugger and him to work. I know I should be accommodating, but they have a rather large amount of crates and —"

::I'm on my way,:: Prowl growled. ::Prowl out.:: He whirled around. "And who gave them permission to bring supplies onto the base?"

Jazz nearly swore, convinced he'd almost been kissed. "For their sake, it had better have been Prime himself!"

Prowl swept out of his office, Jazz on his heels.

oOoOo

Prowl had had a really long orn. He had barely settled the dispute over how much equipment the Base Ceti mechs would be allowed to bring down when they'd received a distress call from Dr. Paul Gates at Quantum Labs. They'd spent the orn fighting TORQIII and its remotely controlled machines, not to mention dealing with rerouted oil tankers. The squad had dragged back to base grumbling over humans and their disastrous attempts to create supercomputers. The only good thing was that Prowl had made sure Sideswipe went with them, knowing the PSF agents couldn't do much with only one twin.

Now he was dragging himself into the rec room, thinking of nothing other than a cube of warm energon and an equally warm recharge berth. Between the psycho machines, the PSF agents, and the sexual tension between himself, Prime and Jazz, his processor was fried. He stepped through the door one step behind Prime, spotted Jazz talking with Bluestreak, and then halted abruptly when he noticed Detour chatting up Sunstreaker at the corner table. Sideswipe nearly crashed into his back.

"Whoa, Prowl, what's up?" Sideswipe stepped up beside him, pressing his palm against Prowl's canopy.

Prowl was so startled by the random affection that he was momentarily distracted. He glanced up at Sideswipe's smooth, innocent face and had a flash of horror thinking of him hurt. He turned into Sideswipe's arm on instinct. "Given the way they're gesturing at their armor, it looks like Detour and your brother are comparing their particular shades of yellow."

Sideswipe stared down at him, and Prowl realized he was effectively being held. His doorwings arched upwards. This had been the orn of weird occurrences, but in this case he couldn't complain. They simply watched each other silently, and Prowl wondered if there was a way to warn the twins. No, that would be impossible. They weren't good at keeping secrets, and Prowl had no proof. It would be more expedient to simply ensure that the twins hated the PSF, which given the mechs' attitudes wouldn't be too hard. No doubt Sunstreaker's ego alone would put him at odds with them, although Prowl would ensure it. Anything to keep them safe.

Sideswipe suddenly glanced away, and Prowl followed his gaze. Sunstreaker was staring at them from across the room. Unsure what that might portend, Prowl willed himself to step away only to find he couldn't bring himself to do so.

Sideswipe took advantage of his inaction by directing him over to his brother, never once removing his hand from Prowl's canopy. "Need some outside judges, bro?"

"Who needs a judge?" Sunstreaker smirked. "We all know my shade of yellow is far more beautiful."

Detour laughed. "Wow, sparky, you're awfully sure of yourself." He flicked his doorwings in a clear brush off.

Prowl had suspected the twins' time with Bluestreak and Smokescreen had clued them in on some doorwing language. The way they stiffened told him he was right. In the case of Detour, Prowl might not have to do anything to make the twins hate him, but he'd make sure anyway. "Well, Sunstreaker is our resident painter and quite talented at that. He's the best mech to assess hues."

Sunstreaker's surprised glance told Prowl that his praise was unexpected.

"Oh?" Detour's doorwings flattened in clear disdain. "A frontliner with the spark of an artist? How amusing."

Prowl fought off a smile. _So easy. Sunstreaker will never forgive him now._

Sure enough, Sunstreaker emitted a low growl as he stood from his seat. Detour stood as well, holding up both hands.

"So quick to violence." Detour took put his hand on Prowl's back, just as Sideswipe had, and steered him away from the table. "So, Prowl, it really is nice to meet a fellow Praxian here. Three, even!"

Stiffening at the unwelcome and too-familiar contact, Prowl didn't dare glance back at the twins. He let Detour lead him away just to avoid a potential brawl, but he had to admit that Detour's sudden interest and forwardness were puzzling. What was he up to now? "There aren't too many of us left."

"Sadly." Detour stopped at the energon dispenser, drawing two cubes and smiling at Prowl at he did. "I'm sorry we got off to such a poor start. I'm afraid we didn't handle the death of our comrades very well and blew several regulations along the way. It's inexcusable, I know, but I hope you'll be able to forgive us."

Prowl stared at him stoically, hiding well the surge of suspicion and surprise he felt. Detour was chatting him up now? "We could have shot you out of the sky if we'd mistaken you for 'Cons."

Detour's doorwings drooped as though he were abashed. "I realize that. As one second-in-command to another, I apologize for the commotion and inconvenience."

"Apology accepted," Prowl lied. The comparison irked him. He wasn't just the second-in-command of the _Ark's_ crew; he was the SIC of the entire Autobot Army.

Detour grinned at him. His black helm and black racing stripes contrasted nicely with the golden yellow of his paint. In another life, Prowl might have considered him attractive. "Thank you." He reached out and squeezed Prowl's arm.

_He's flirting with me?_ Prowl thought, shocked. Detour handed him an energon cube and gestured for Prowl to lead them to a table. He glanced across the room and saw both Jazz and Optimus, in opposite corners, staring his way. Prowl never, ever wanted to hurt them, but in the astrosecond he turned toward a table, a plan struck him. Detour had likely been ordered to buddy up to him in order to win his confidence. Prowl could do the same. If he played them well enough, they might even try to 'recruit' him into their supposedly secret society. He was Praxian, after all. And the closer in he got, the more damage he could do. If that meant flirting back with Detour, chatting him up, and even dating him, so be it. Prowl was not programmed to lose.

Prowl had to fight off a smirk. _Never try to manipulate a tactician._

_

* * *

_

_Postscript: For those who might find it useful, there's a list of the slang terms and visiting mechs below._

_**PSF**__ — Praxus Special Forces  
__**Sokii**__ — PSF slang for "officer"  
__**Pixie**__— PSF slang for civilian Praxians  
__**CAF**__ — Cybertron Armed Forces (a.k.a., Autobots, pre-civil war)  
__**Pixer**__— PSF slang for a Praxian in the CAF instead of the PSF  
__**Poser**__ — PSF slang for a CAF special ops agent_

_**Ex-PSF agents on Earth**__ (although three aren't "on stage" yet) —  
Blackjack, commander. Black, boxy like Ironhide.  
Detour, his SIC. Yellow with doorwings.  
Hyperdrive, warrior. Cyan, boxy like Ironhide.  
Tailwind, scientist (chemist). Tall, spindly, navy blue. Imagine a really thin Perceptor, minus the scope.  
Road Hugger, engineer. Tall, spindly, dark blue.  
Whisper, medic. Tall, spindly, black._


	3. The Law of Revenge

_A/N: Remember, this story does have __**AU elements**__ to it. Note, though, that the Night Stalker mentioned here is not Nightstalker, Ravage's brother._

_Thank you for the reviews! Everyone should have gotten a reply or PM, but for the three I couldn't reach, thank you to Christina, Poiuni, and Won't be the victim!_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 3: Lex Talionis  
**__**or The Law of Revenge**_

Most of his life, Prowl had wanted to believe he was above wanting to take revenge. However, as he grabbed his morning energon and whisked from the rec room, he knew he was not. Seeing Blackjack, Detour, Whisper, and Road Hugger huddled at a corner together on _his Ark_, mingling with _his_ crew, and secretly endangering _his_ mechs was enough to make him want to punish them for everything they'd ever done wrong. Then again, Prowl's sense of justice had been severely violated when so many mechs involved in the long-ago murders had gone unindicted.

Entering the relative safety of his office, Prowl dropped into his desk chair and tried to make himself drink his energon. Just seeing the PSF agents first thing in the morning was enough to turn his tanks, but he had a job to do. He picked up the duty roster and considered where he should stick their 'visitors.' However, his concentration didn't last long before fragments of memories began pressing in on him:

_"Prowl, we're going to record your testimony now. Your image will be blurred, your voice masked, and your designation off-record. The jury will hear all you have to say, but your identity will be protected at all times. Please speak freely."_

_"Tell the jury what you saw that orn."_

_"Tell the jury what happened next."_

_"How would you characterize Maverick's and Night Stalker's physical conditions?"_

_"What had the PSF claimed would happen to the twins in the study?"_

_"And the sparkling twins? What was the PSF's plan for them?"_

Prowl hissed, pressing his fingers against his temples. He had not, had _not_, worked this hard and sacrificed this much just to have Sideswipe and Sunstreaker be hurt or killed now. He had to take action immediately, and an earlier trip to a permanently-paranoid Red Alert had been his first step.

From his subspace, Prowl pulled out two tiny golden boxes he'd borrowed from Security. Each one was a wireless mechanism called a Logger, which logged searches, uploads, and downloads and could be programmed to restrict access to whatever computer it was attached to. What Prowl needed was information, and what he didn't need was the PSF getting information themselves. If he attached one of the devices to the medbay's main terminal, he could log, without leaving a trace, any and all activity from Whisper. No one would be able to tell Prowl was checking, but he could review everything Whisper did when he logged in, not to mention that the device would catch illegal access. If Whisper got anywhere near the twins' files, Prowl would know. Satisfied with his plan, Prowl programmed the mechanism to restrict Whisper's access more than his rank should have required. Then, considering the way engineers and scientists seemed to find their way into the _Ark's_ medbay, he restricted Road Hugger's and Tailwind's access, too.

A buzz announced a visitor at Prowl's door, and he subspaced the boxes again, leaving the second one unprogrammed as of yet. "Enter."

Blackjack, the leader of their 'guests,' swept into the room. "Good morning, sir." His dark, boxy form seemed to tower over Prowl's desk as he smiled down at him. "Prime tells me you're adding us to the shift rotation today."

Prowl immediately felt skeptical of Blackjack's motivation to visit him. "Two of you per shift." He braced himself to lie horribly. "I see no reason to not put Tailwind, Whisper, and Road Hugger into our Science and Medical rotations." The mere thought of it made him ill, but anything else would look suspicious, especially considering that Medical was understaffed.

"Indeed. I was most shocked to learn you only had two trained medics for this garrison." Blackjack lifted his chin, a picture of condescension. "Were you not in charge of the crew manifest?"

Hiding his irritation, Prowl gestured to the chair across from his desk. He didn't need to explain himself to anyone, least of all Blackjack. The only mech he was answerable to was Prime, who had signed off on Prowl's choices. However, gaining Blackjack's respect would further Prowl's objectives. "How much do you know about the _Ark's_ original mission?"

"Very little." Blackjack settled his hulking frame into the chair. "News travels slowly to Tau Ceti. We're too far from the frontlines, although of course we heard the _Ark_ had been lost, along with the Prime and ostensibly Megatron."

Prowl nodded. "Originally, the _Ark_ was on a desperate energy-searching expedition. Ultra Magnus was left in charge of the headquarters at Iacon, as you know, since Prime insisted on leading this mission himself. What you don't realize is that the original crew was only 18 mechs. We couldn't spare any more." He conveniently forgot to mention the part where he had been ridiculously determined to go with his Prime against all logic.

"How did you end up with 40 mechs, then?" Blackjack frowned. "And why only two medics?"

Prowl felt his doorwings tense, the horror of the answer burning his spark. "Most of them have either sneaked across the Decepticon's space bridge or begged to return with squads who traveled to Cybertron on missions via Omega Supreme. Cosmos came under his own power and brought Blaster with him." He paused briefly, wondering why Blackjack wanted to know. He almost felt as though he were being pumped for information except said information wasn't classified. What could Blackjack be fishing for? "In every case, they've been the few or sole survivors of their platoon, company, or entire battalion. So, frankly, their skills or specialties are utterly random."

"Just like us," Blackjack murmured. "There was an entire battalion stationed at Tau Ceti. We just happened to be a specialized research unit." He glanced away, staring at the painting of Iacon hanging on Prowl's office wall. Sunstreaker had done it for Prowl by request. "I wonder if I let them get too involved in their studies and didn't run enough drills. We'd gone an entire vorn without a single attack. Maybe we felt too isolated, too safe. When the big attack came, we were caught off-guard." His vocalizer spit static his voice grew so rough. "I lost 381 mechs! Only nine survivors."

Prowl couldn't decide if he was seeing a true display of remorse and grief or if it was an act to garner his sympathy and care. The truth was that Blackjack should be nearly cracking under the grief given that they were his mechs, but Blackjack seemed too calm, even for Prowl's tastes. It seemed more like an act to him, and if it were, it was failing miserably twice-over. No matter what the circumstances, Prowl would never stop running drills, even if they defeated Megatron that very orn. A single astrosecond of laxness would get his mechs killed. "Yes, 381 mechs is an unthinkable loss," he said neutrally.

Blackjack shook his head as though to reset his processer. "Well, sounds like having an extra medic and engineer on hand will be of help, then. Road Hugger has emergency medical certification, too."

"Indeed." Prowl pulled out the datapad in question, quickly making the assignments official. "Detour, Hyperdrive, and you will be going on patrol."

Blackjack jerked faintly. "With all due respect, sir, I am a colonel. May I at least be assigned to the command deck?"

Prowl barely suppressed a growl. "Well, Colonel, you're not the commander of a base anymore. Not including you and your mechs, we have myself — the Autobot SIC — as well as Prime, the heads of divisions, a mess of survey and science mechs, frontliners for defense, and a hodgepodge of others. Had our original mission not been so serious, and were Megatron not here with his SIC and TIC, making this the frontline, it would be a laughable arrangement. But this is what it is. We all do jobs we are not accustomed to, such as perimeter patrol."

Standing abruptly, Blackjack came to attention. "My apologies, sir. I did not mean to step out-of-line."

Blackjack's attitude was a show of typical PSF arrogance, but as Prowl considered the problem, he realized the command deck might be the best place for Blackjack. Prowl could assign him second shift, putting him directly under Jazz, who was naturally suspicious and would watch him closely. Blackjack wouldn't be able to take command in a crisis situation unless Jazz gave it to him, and Jazz wasn't likely to do such a thing. "That being said, I will allow you to have time on the command deck. When your turn for patrol comes, though, I'd best not hear any complaints."

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed." Prowl watched the boxy black form retreat. It was like seeing a black Ironhide barrel out his door, and Prowl suspected Blackjack began cursing as soon as the door was closed. Mentally shrugging off the mech's reaction, Prowl considered the duty roster. How else could he minimize the damage? He pondered the mess for several kliks, then decided that if he put Detour on patrol during first shift, he could pair him with Mirage, who was equally suspicious as Jazz. Again, Detour would find it hard to take command of a situation, and Mirage would notice anything odd.

Hyperdrive, their frontliner, could be paired with Grimlock on third shift watch. That only left the scientists. Prowl decided to assign the medic, Whisper, to first shift. He put Tailwind, the chemist, on second shift, and Road Hugger, the engineer, on third. Having them all on separate shifts wouldn't keep them from working with each other, but it would be obvious when they started putting in double shifts on a project.

Most of all, Prowl could keep the PSF agents away from the twins. Detour would be the only one on first shift patrol with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but being paired with Mirage, Detour would cover the northwest perimeter. The twins covered the southeast perimeter.

It was the best Prowl could do for now.

oOoOo

Normally, the cycle of revenge was endless. An optic for an optic for an optic for an optic. However, as Prowl headed to medbay, he decided he would take no prisoners. Simply outsmarting the ex-PSF and saving the twins wouldn't be good enough. He would catch them, get them slammed with a court-martial, and not stop until they'd been either executed or put into a maximum security facility. Sideswipe had always complained that Prowl was ruthless when he punished him for pranks, but Sideswipe didn't know what Prowl was truly capable of. What he, in fact, had been trained to do.

Prowl's determination was only reinforced when he entered the medbay and saw the one sight that sickened him most: Whisper, the medic he had known as codename and rank M4, with free access. In the past, Whisper had been, as his codename suggested, fourth in line in the medical division's officer ranks. Prowl suspected that he was currently M1, the CMO of the now underground PSF society. Like all Praxian medical-science models, he was tall and thin with spindly legs and arms. Unlike Tailwind, who was navy blue, Whisper was black, his face, hands, and thighs the only grey parts on him.

At the moment, Whisper was bent over Sideswipe's leg, examining his knee joint. "Hm. Looks like you threw a bolt in the joint. Should be an easy fix." He glanced up, meeting Sideswipe's gaze. "I have to say, I'm inordinately pleased to meet you. As a medic, I've always been fascinated with twins."

Sunstreaker was the only other mech in the main medbay, and as usual, he was hovering at his brother's shoulder. The twins didn't always accompany each other when wounded, especially for minor injuries, but more often than not, they tended to stick together. Since Bluestreak and Smokescreen were close friends, the twins and their lovers had become a four-mech unit, never far from each other.

"If everyone's so fraggin' fascinated," Sunstreaker asked, "then why is there so little information on twins in the databases?"

Prowl watched, knowing the answer and wondering what Whisper would say.

"Sadly, there have been so few twins that in-depth studies haven't been done." Whisper made it sound tragic. "And what information did exist has been lost in the destruction of several cities. In fact, a great deal of our medical and scientific knowledge has been lost thanks to the destruction caused by this war."

Prowl barely stopped a snort, and Whisper glanced up.

"Prowl, isn't it? What may I do for you, sir?" Whisper gestured to Prowl's doorwings. "Ahh, information models and their doorwings. Please tell me you haven't jarred them."

Prowl wasn't sure he'd accept Whisper's help even if he were dying. Literally. "I'm here to see Ratchet."

"Ah. He's in his office, sir." Whisper gave him a cheery smile before turning back to Sideswipe. "Let's see to that knee, eh?"

Prowl knew he was in the clear as long as he was careful. Whisper's attention would be solidly on Sideswipe and vice versa. Sunstreaker's would be on his brother, so with Ratchet in his office, no one should notice Prowl's activities. Prowl slipped into the enclave in the back of medbay where the computer terminal was located. He entered his own password, gaining access, and then knelt down, attaching the Logger to the terminal deep underneath the console. He glanced over his shoulder, but neither Whisper nor the twins were looking his way. Satisfied, Prowl checked under the console to ensure no other devices had already been planted. Seeing none, he straightened and watched as the terminal recognized the Logger's signal. Just another klik, and they would be synched.

The _hiss _of an opening door drew Prowl's attention to the back hallway in the medbay where the offices were. Ratchet had probably left his office, and Prowl heard approaching footsteps. He turned back to the terminal and typed in the permissions for the Logger to link to the software. _Come on,_ he thought, glancing back to the hallway again.

After a moment, the screen flashed up a green acceptance message, and Prowl backed out of the programs until he reached the main screen.

"What do you want?" came a gruff voice behind his shoulder.

Controlling his urge to jerk, Prowl schooled his face into its usual stoic mask and turned to face Ratchet. He'd determined his cover story before coming. "I was looking up information on stress reactions in Praxian science-medical models and worker-laborer models." He kept his voice low so Whisper wouldn't overhear. "It's been a long time since I've worked with anything other than information models." He flicked his doorwings on the word _information_ to indicate what he meant.

Ratchet snorted. "The Praxians weren't very imaginative in their model lines." He motioned for Prowl to follow him to his office.

"Most cities weren't," Prowl noted dryly as they retreated down the hall into Ratchet's office. "For example, Vos only generated two Seeker models and four flight-capable models total."

"True." Ratchet sat at his desk and typed commands into his terminal, which was linked to the main medbay computer. "And here you go." He pulled up the files in question. "You know, if we networked all the _Ark's_ computers, you wouldn't have to come down here anymore."

It was a recent debate among the officers. Prowl shook his head. "Red Alert isn't just being paranoid about this. If all our computers are networked, we'll be open to easy attack. The Decepticons could hack our entire system in one attempt or shut us down with a single virus. It's better that we upload what we need to share to Teletraan."

"I guess you're right." Ratchet gestured to his terminal screen. "Do you have a specific concern here that I should know about?"

"There was a rumor in Praxus that worker-laborer models, once converted to warrior programming, developed a glitch in which they had psychotic breaks in the face of major losses." Of course, so far Prowl wasn't seeing any signs of grief from any of the PSF mechs, but it was an otherwise logical assumption to make. Surely their visitors had lost some friends in the attack, and even if they hadn't, Prowl needed to give Ratchet a believable reason for his accessing the medical terminal. "I'm checking to see if the rumor is based in fact. If it is, we need to tag Hyperdrive for close observation. I've teamed him with Grimlock for his shift, and Grimlock will be able to handle it if Hyperdrive breaks down. But I'd rather be prepared."

Ratchet frowned. "I remember that rumor, but I've never been in a brigade with a Praxian converted-warrior." He gestured to Prowl's doorwings. "Well, other than information models, I mean.

"I'd imagine not. With only a few exceptions, they were all stationed in Praxus with the Praxus Special Forces, so they died fighting the orn Praxus fell." Prowl's question was legitimate; he simply already knew the truth. However, he pretended to have discovered the answer and pointed to Ratchet's screen. "Here it is: 'The PSF reports that warrior models converted from worker-laborer models show significant functional impairment in the incident of loss, e.g., a warrior model surviving the death of his squad or platoon. In addition to natural grief, the affected model shows berserker behaviors leading to differentiated or undifferentiated murderous impulses.'"

"Primus!" Ratchet glared at his terminal as though it had personally offended him. "Hyperdrive showed no signs of anything other than a bad attitude when I examined him, but it sounds like I better put him on a watch."

Prowl nodded. "Be subtle, or you might set him off."

Ratchet whipped a datapad from his subspace and began typing in notes. "Why didn't Blackjack warn us? Or is he telling himself that his mech will be fine?"

"Good question." Prowl hid a smirk. If it were necessary, then one-by-one he would make the entire crew suspicious of the newcomers. Due to special ops training, Mirage would instinctively analyze Detour, and Jazz would observe Blackjack. Now Ratchet would be watching Hyperdrive. Prowl just needed to get someone on the medic, scientist, and engineer.

It was good that Prowl's original position had not been in tactical. This was going to take more than tactics.

oOoOo

Optimus stared at his terminal screen, disbelief filling him. He'd delayed looking up the PSF murder trial all orn, choosing instead to discuss the new arrivals with Ultra Magnus, who had indicated Base Ceti was a quiet research outpost that had never given anyone problems. Prime also asked Blackjack why he'd contacted Ultra Magnus and not him, effectively failing to get his permission to come. The explanation had neither been particularly strong nor weak: Blackjack said they'd used the base's mainframe to send a message to Ultra Magnus, but that Blackjack had decided to come to Earth after boarding Flattop, who didn't have a powerful enough communications array to send a message to Earth at that point. Once Flattop had been in range, they'd been attacked by one of Megatron's squads and lost their comms.

Accepting the situation as possible, if not preferable, Prime had thought little else about it until now. He'd pulled up the trial report, a huge document, and found 88 percent of the files mysteriously corrupted. All that was left was random words and phrases in each section. While file corruption wasn't impossible — a great deal of data from before the Golden Age had been lost — an official report from ten millennia ago should have been fine. However, as Optimus scanned the screen, he saw he wasn't going to learn much:

_Nineteen members of the Praxus Special Forces, hereafter to be called the PSF, were indicted for the deaths of eighteen mechs who . . ._

_. . . was medical research on the nature of sparks and spark bonds . . ._

_The use of split-spark twins in the study . . . one set of twins was youngling-aged . . ._

_. . . pursued charges of second degree murder on the . . ._

_. . . the Enforcers' infiltrator testified . . . and that the division's CMO set up . . ._

_. . . showed informed consent was not obtained . . . participants of Project Bond held against their will when . . ._

_. . . who was former PSF officer testified that two fellow members of his battalion, who were twins, had been . . ._

_. . . was a mix of radiation and chemicals . . . seizures, weakness, erratic sparkrate, energon pump failure . . ._

_. . . medical expert testified that such a combination would . . ._

_. . . proved fatal . . ._

_The defendants were found guilty on . . ._

_. . . and the prosecution pursued the death penalty for . . ._

Irritated by the spotty information, Prime turned off his screen and propped his chin on his fist. It was just too convenient that this particular file would be corrupted, and Optimus was not a believer in coincidences. Unfortunately, the file had been downloaded from Iacon, which meant it could have corrupted, or been corrupted, any time in the last ten millennia. That hardly suggested that the ex-PSF agents on his base now were guilty of anything. Clearly, though, someone had not wanted history to have the details of the PSF's biggest and most public blunder.

His door chime buzzed, and Prime triggered the door open. Prowl swept into the room, looking beautiful as usual with his arched doorwings and crisp black and white paint; however, he also seemed tired, his optics dim. "Good evening, sir. I have the report on our guests' projected impact on our energon usage." He held out a datapad.

"Thank you." Prime took the report, glanced over it, and decided that the sooner they enabled their guests to leave the better. "I'm not sure where we're going to get enough energon to empower Flattop to get them to Cybertron, but they can't stay here. We're struggling to keep the forty mechs we have fueled, much less nine more."

Prowl frowned. "Perhaps Grapple can design a solar-powered energy collector-converter like Omega Supreme's. If Flattop is going to spend all his time in orbit, he might as well collect his own energy. Sunlight is free, after all."

Optimus nodded, struck by the viability of the idea. Omega Supreme spent half his time in space connected to a huge, specially-designed solar power array that converted fuel for him. If a smaller one could be designed for Flattop and his specific energy needs, it would help greatly. "Assign the project to Grapple immediately."

He listened with one audio as Prowl did just that, trying to figure out a way for both of them to relax. _Primus,_ he thought, _ever since we danced I haven't been able to rid myself of the thought of dating him._ He didn't want to overstep his bounds, though. It wasn't illegal for him to date one of his officers, and when Elita had been alive, he'd been doing just that. She'd been in command of the brigade at Tyger Pax, close enough for him to see her easily, and her loss had been tragic both for Prime personally and the Autobot Army generally.

Now, though, Optimus had someone to ease his pain and loneliness, someone he wanted to share his life with.

Prime logged himself and Prowl off-duty as Prowl closed his comm. link. "We need to unwind. It's been a crazy few orns." He decided not to mention the corrupted file, knowing it would upset Prowl further.

Prowl's doorwings perked faintly, although Optimus wasn't sure if it was in anticipation or curiosity. "You sound like you have a plan."

"How about our nightly energon in my quarters to the amazing strings and vocals of _Sorenritta Cephas_?" Optimus tried to make it seem casual, something between friends. Entertainment wasn't easy to come by on the _Ark_, unless one liked human television, and _Sorenritta_ was their favorite Cybertronian symphony, something they could both enjoy.

Prowl hesitated, then nodded. "Very well."

Optimus relaxed, having not even realized how tense he'd become waiting for the answer. They left the office together, chatting about the composer of _Sorenritta_ and whether it was his best work or not. Since Prime had an energon dispenser in his room, although he rarely used it, they skipped the rec room. While Optimus preferred to mingle with his troops and stay in touch with their attitudes, thoughts, and feelings, this was a case when he wanted to be discreet and focus solely on Prowl.

"It's sad that Maestro is best known for _Sorenritta,_" Prowl was saying as they reached Prime's quarters. "He composed it so early in his career, and yet everyone focused on it rather than his later work. They say he came to hate it and wished he'd never written it."

Punching in his door code, Optimus gestured for Prowl to enter first. "And yet it's your favorite."

"Indeed." Prowl gave him that signature barely-there smile of his as Prime entered behind him. "The haunting quality of the final song with its faint, wordless vocals is unparalleled."

Optimus released his battle mask, returning Prowl's smile. "I agree. Have a seat while I bring up the music and get our energon."

Prowl settled on the couch, his doorwings making the chairs uncomfortable for him, and Optimus called up the musical software on his private computer. The bold electronic reverberation of _Sorenritta's_ opening burst through the room, and Optimus lowered the volume before pouring them two energon cubes.

"I'll never get tired of listening to this," Optimus said as he joined Prowl on the couch, handing over one cube. "Especially at the end of a long orn." He wondered how Prowl would react to his choice of seats, but Prowl didn't look at him askance.

Prowl simply nodded and took a sip of his energon. "It does have the ability to both lift your spirits and soothe you, depending on the song."

For three breems they talked and sipped, discussing several different symphonies before wandering onto different topics like human music, their newest human friend, Carly, and even Wheeljack's attempts to train the Dinobots.

"It may take a radical solution to fix our Dinobot problem," Prowl said dryly, setting aside his empty cube.

Optimus chuckled. "I get the impression they're a bit too noisy and chaotic for you."

"I'm not sure they have a megabyte of logic between them." Prowl's small smile reappeared.

This time Optimus had to laugh outright. He adored Prowl's deadpan humor, and Prowl was beautiful when he relaxed and opened up. On impulse, Prime reached out and took Prowl's hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm glad you agreed to share energon with me tonight. You have a way of restoring my sanity, and I hope I do the same for you."

"You do." Prowl's smile hadn't wavered, and to Prime's surprise, he squeezed back.

Prime's gaze moved over Prowl's graceful crimson chevron, the gentle slope of his cheekarch, the shine of his lips. He would have given much to be able to kiss him. Optimus wanted to tell him what he really felt, but he couldn't quite find the courage. "As I said the other night, you mean a great deal to me." He tested his luck, reaching up to cup Prowl's face and run one thumb down his cheekseam.

"I . . ." Prowl's optics flared bright momentarily as his words failed him.

Afraid he was pushing too hard and too fast, Optimus relented and dropped his hand. "I'm glad you were so adamant about accompanying me on this misguided venture. By all logic, I should have ordered you to stay behind and command the brigade at Iacon, but I'm grateful you bypassed logic this time."

"Me, too." Prowl's voice was more of a whisper as he dropped his gaze to their joined hands.

Optimus once again wondered if his feelings were one-sided, and this time he dared to hope they weren't. At least Prowl hadn't pulled away.

oOoOo

Hurtling around the corner, Jazz growled to himself as he stalked down the corridor to his quarters. Although his shift had been slightly irritating, he'd had a wonderful time once he'd gotten off duty at midnight and headed to the rec room. He'd had a few breems to share with Blaster, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, and the twins before heading off to recharge. They'd listened to tunes, kicked back some energon, and chatted happily, but all that had ended when Blackjack and Tailwind had entered the room.

"Slaggers," Jazz hissed, only to halt abruptly when Prowl stepped out of Optimus' quarters and crossed the hall to his own.

Prowl glanced toward him. "Jazz? Are you okay?"

_Uh, no,_ Jazz thought, stunned. Since when did Prowl hang out in Optimus' room until the wee joors of the morning?

Prowl stepped toward him, a frown of concern pulling down his lips. "Did something happen?"

_I hope not!_ Jazz thought, applying the answer to seeing where Prowl had been. "Just not lovin' that PS — uh, that arrogance I'm gettin'."

Frown deepening, Prowl turned back to his door and punched in his access code. "Would you like to come in?" He stood aside, gesturing for Jazz to enter his quarters.

Jazz didn't need to be asked twice. "Thanks." He slipped into Prowl's tidy quarters, which contrary to general assumption weren't the least bit cold or dreary. Prowl had several replicas of famous paintings on his walls, most of which had survived the crash with only minor damage, and the Golden Age classic décor of warm tans and crimsons for his furnishings. The room was as immaculate as one would expect, but Jazz found the space to be snug and inviting.

"What happened?" Prowl asked once the door closed.

Jazz sighed and flopped onto Prowl's couch. "Primus, those slaggers are so arrogant. I spent most of my shift puttin' Blackjack in his place. I swear he wants to rip control of the command deck out from under me."

"What makes you say that?" Prowl perched on the couch's edge, his body turned toward Jazz and their knees nearly touching.

For a moment, Jazz was too distracted to continue. "Well, he kept tryin' to give orders in my place. I mean, I guess he's used to bein' commander of a base, but he's not now. He needs to accept that." He shrugged. "I must've said 'belay that order' a dozen times. Anyway, then the slagger comes into the rec room and makes this remark about the _Ark_ being nearly devoid of real company. And that Tailwind mech only nodded to Smokescreen and Bluestreak."

"And our twins didn't rip them limb from limb?" Prowl asked, tone dry.

Jazz snorted. "Well, ol' Blackie didn't say it loud enough for anyone but me to hear, and he probably doesn't know I heard it." He thunked his helm on the couch back. "Maybe I'm biased because ya said they're ex-PSF. Maybe I'm readin' too much into it. But I don't think so. I swear those fraggers are sizin' us up." _And finding us wanting._

Scooting sideways until his shoulder was leaning against the couch back as well, Prowl shook his head. "The PSF honestly believed they were superior to Praxian civilians, not to mention the rest of Cybertron. They used to say things like 'Praxians do everything better, and the PSF does it the best.'"

"I'm glad yer not like that," Jazz mumbled, then realized he could be misunderstood. "I mean that assumption that Praxus is better." He sighed. "I dunno. I just remember how it was, ya know? I was this young, cocky lieutenant new to special ops when me and my team were first sent on a joint mission with a PSF team. Primus, I thought we'd all kill each other instead of extractin' our endangered undercover agent. I've never once forgotten the PSF's condescendin' attitudes and the way they called me 'poser.'"

Prowl reached out and squeezed Jazz's hand. "Well, 'poser' is what they called all non-PSF spec ops mechs, so it wasn't just you. Not that that makes it any better."

Surprised, Jazz was unable to move for a moment. Prowl was holding his hand? Not wanting to waste the chance, Jazz rolled his wrist until he could return the grasp. "Well, it's obvious you've put up with their smart-aft mouths before. I hope they don't stay long. They keep on like this, and either the twins or I'll end up puttin' one or more of 'em straight through a bulkhead."

Prowl laughed quietly, and Jazz adored the smile shining on his face. Primus, Prowl was handsome when he smiled. "What? Are ya gonna let us pummel 'em? Awesome!" He grinned, clasping Prowl's hand more tightly.

"You'll corrupt me yet," Prowl teased.

Warmth shot through Jazz's circuits at the realization that Prowl wasn't pulling away and was even joking with him. They stared at each other silently for a moment, gazes caught, and Prowl reached up, brushing his fingers over Jazz's cheek gently. At the touch, Jazz felt like lightning struck in his tank.

"I'm so glad you're here on the _Ark_ with me," Prowl murmured.

_Kiss me kiss me kiss me!_ Jazz captured Prowl's hand against his face. "Hey, I'll always go where ya go."

Apparently Prowl realized what he was doing because he suddenly extracted his hand and sat back. "Ah, sorry, Jazz. I didn't mean to be fresh with you."

"Did I say no?" Jazz asked, trying to salvage the situation.

Prowl glanced at him, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth, and gave him a look Jazz didn't understand. "No, but it's not as simple as that."

Jazz's spark sank. The words 'it's complicated' were generally a bad sign. Still, he didn't give up easily. He wasn't about to press Prowl, but he'd find out what the problem was. Surely together they could work out anything.

oOoOo

_Then again, revenge does have a way of biting you in the aft,_ Prowl thought as he entered the rec room the following morning. This time only Detour was present of the PSF agents, but he was the center of a small group of mechs, including Bluestreak and Smokescreen. Everyone was laughing, the noise unbearably loud compared to the silence of the early morning hallways. Prowl wondered if he were being punished for pursuing the PSF before he even truly got started.

Especially when Detour honed in on him instantly. "Good morning, _Sokii_ Prowl!" He bounded across the room, yellow doorwings flopping behind him, with all the energy and cheer of an over-energized Jazz.

Prowl remembered suddenly the night he'd rounded a curve in the mountains and found a deer frozen in his headlights. He'd swerved, his superior control enabling him to miss the animal without crashing himself, and still the deer had stood frozen, only running several moments after the fact.

Watching the blaring-yellow, grinning mech bouncing toward him, Prowl abruptly and intimately understood the deer's feelings.

The other mechs in the room watched with a smile as Prowl halted and stared at Detour. All except the twins, both of whom were frowning. Prowl erected his most perfect stoic mask as Detour slid to a stop in front of him. "Good morning, ah, _'Sokii'_ Detour." In Prowl's mind, the mere fact that Detour was using the ancient Praxian word for _officer_ suggested that he might still be intending to play the 'inclusion' card to pump Prowl for information. After all, only PSF members had used the dialect.

"You're learning," Detour said, grinning and looping his arm through Prowl's and pulling him toward the dispensers. "Did I hear someone say that you don't refuel enough? I did, didn't I? Well, we can't have that, can we?"

The onslaught of questions grated on Prowl's circuits. "I assure you I can take care of myself." He said the words with some irony, given the actual double meaning to them.

"Well, of course!" Detour drew him an energon cube. "But everyone can use some coddling from time to time, yes?" He held out the energon.

Prowl heard some chuckles behind him as he took the cube and knew they had to be much amused by the inherent clash of personalities they were witnessing. "I do not need to be coddled." In truth, there were moments when Prowl wouldn't mind someone he loved taking care of him, and there were also an equal number of moments when he wanted to be the one doing the caring. But he wanted neither of those things from Detour.

"Oh, pamper yourself a bit." Detour smiled at him and began dragging him from the room.

It took all of Prowl's considerable willpower not to shake Detour off, but he forced himself to stick to his plan of letting Detour flirt with him so he could worm his way into the PSF's good graces and gather intel. "Why this outpouring of concern?" he asked dryly as they entered the hallway.

The sillier aspects of Detour's act dropped immediately as they headed toward the elevator. "I don't mean to be annoying. But from one SIC to another, I know how overworked we can get. We end up doing all the jobs our COs don't want, all the minutiae and reports and boring stuff." He gave Prowl a look of bright-opticked empathy. "No one really knows what we suffer to keep our units running smoothly. We have the toughest job on the base."

Once again swallowing irritation at being compared to a battalion's SIC, Prowl frowned. So now it was a play on sympathy and understanding? "True enough," he felt obligated to admit, although he resented the implication that Prime would abuse him in any way.

As they climbed onto the elevator, Detour patted the arm he was holding captive. "We so often have to play the bad guys, too, handling discipline and the like. No one knows how frustrating and lonely it can get working double shifts, and our sacrifices are rarely acknowledged. I suppose I overdid it back there, but mostly I just want to be the one who's different. _I_ get it."

Prowl decided Detour hadn't changed much in ten millennia. He'd already analyzed Prowl's position, work habits, and likely weaknesses. He was searching for a pressure point, a fissure, a way in. "I imagine that you do," he said, playing along, "and I appreciate your caring."

"You're welcome." Detour's smile widened as he leaned slightly into Prowl's side.

_That's right,_ Prowl thought, giving him a small, fake smile in return. _Walk right into my trap._

_

* * *

_

_Postscript: The theme song for this chapter is "Tomorrow" by SR-71. Watch here (remove the spaces): www . youtube . com / watch # !v = jJOjUsXlo5k & feature = related_

_"You never dreamed you'd have to live your life so guarded,  
'cause they'll find a way to make you feel discarded.  
Things have changed; you've become a complication"_

_-"Tomorrow," SR-71_


	4. Always Vigilant

_A/N: Please __**do not skip the flashbacks**__. They contain information important to the plot._

_Thank you for the reviews! Everyone should have gotten a reply or PM, but for the three I couldn't reach, thank you once again to Christina, Poiuni, and won't be the Victim! I appreciate your feedback!_

_This chapter references the episodes "Traitor" and "Enter the Nightbird."_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 4: Semper Vigilo  
**__**or Always Vigilant **_

"Holy fraggin' slaggin' Pit!" Detour wailed, scaring robins out of the nearest pine tree. "This is so boring!"

Mirage shot a withering glace at his patrol partner. He'd been in a foul enough mood to find he wasn't teamed with Hound, who at least had a great deal of personal charm and sweetness to offset his lack of sophistication. This blundering idiot was nothing but a whiner who'd probably risen from the gutters of Praxus. "Keep your voice down," he hissed. "If there were any Decepticons out here, they wouldn't even need sensors to find us with you yelling like that."

"How do you stand it?" Detour gestured at the muddy trial they travelled, the water-laden trees, and the overcast sky. His yellow doorwings twitched on his back with more motion than Mirage had even seen on Bluestreak. "It's _wet._ The humidity here is enough to instantly rust my undercarriage, not to mention all that rain we got earlier."

"We do not rust," Mirage noted blandly.

Detour continued as though not interrupted. "And the _mud._ It's all over my tires, in my wheel wells, on my undercarriage, and now that we've transformed, I'm getting it all over my feet, too!"

Mirage technically couldn't disagree with that part. He'd been stunned at how easily Hound had adapted to this organic world. "You will get used to it." A measure of snarkiness snapped deep inside him, and he decided to let Detour have the brunt of his Towers arrogance, which was something he would never do to Hound. "The experience is inconvenient and distasteful for those mechs of _superior_ sophistication." He let his tone indicate Detour was not included. "Unless, of course, the mech is tailor-made for such terrain." He had to be sure to exclude Hound from his insult, whether his lover ever heard about the conversation or not.

Detour frowned at him, only to jump slightly when the brush rustled and several long-legged brown creatures ran in front of them. "What in the frag?" He stopped and jerked his rifle out of subspace.

"They're just deer," Mirage said, his tone dry. "Hardly a threat to a mech twice their height and several times heavier." Actually, the sparkling deer were extremely cute. _Primus, Hound has utterly corrupted my processor._

Relaxing, Detour stowed his weapon back in his subspace and continued walking. "Well, after the 'Con attack on the squad in Japan, we can't be too careful."

"Which was a disaster," Mirage condescended to agree. "Brawn was hurt, the auditorium destroyed, and the ninjabot stolen. Not the Autobots' most shining moment."

Detour shook his head. "From what I hear, Optimus Prime waited until all the humans were clear before counterattacking. I'm sure that gave the 'Cons the upper hand."

Mirage frowned. "Well, certainly at first, but he had hardly a choice."

"The humans seem to complicate things." Detour sighed. "Still, I suppose I should be grateful that your crew found a planet with so many rich resources. With a planet like this to pull energy from, the war could be won and Cybertron could be rebuilt."

"Indeed." Mirage schooled himself to be civil. No matter how much he disliked the mech, decorum had to be maintained. "Although it's taking a long time to work out the necessary treaties and agreements with the humans."

Detour stared at him like he'd popped all his tires. "What? Why not just take it? Like . . . like from a place the humans aren't using? I'm sure the humans can't inhabit the entire planet."

Mirage stopped in his tracks. "Well, it's not _our_ planet to strip. I want to return to Cybertron more than anyone among us, but I will not do it at the price of violating another species and their world." He glared at Detour, thinking he sounded too much like a Decepticon.

Detour simply shrugged. "It was just an idea. Why? Are the humans sentient?"

Mirage found the questions to be odd. Joors later, at the end of his shift, he only knew two things for sure: he never wanted to go on patrol with Detour again, and Detour was a decidedly bizarre mech. He was relating his strange experiences to Hound over energon in the rec room when Prowl abruptly halted by their table.

"What did you say?" Prowl asked, gazing at Mirage with concern.

Mirage and Hound exchanged glances.

"It _is_ weird," Hound said.

Mirage nodded and looked back at his superior. "Perhaps I should tell you this in private, sir."

Without hesitation, Prowl led Mirage to his office. Once the door was closed, Prowl turned to face him. "What happened?"

Mirage paused. "Seeing as how I was recently the victim of someone's wild accusations, I'm hesitant to speak. I don't wish to exaggerate the occurrence." He frowned, the entire incident of being called a traitor still stinging his spark. He'd pretended to get over it, pretended it hadn't hurt, but then he'd ended up crying in Hound's arms.

"Cliffjumper is rash," Prowl said softly. "And you are a trained special ops mech."

Mirage considered his CO momentarily. "You never doubted me, either." He stated it as fact even though it was actually a question.

"No," Prowl replied. "Jazz chose you. He doesn't make those kinds of mistakes." A strange expression passed over his face, almost like frustration. "Besides, there was no hard evidence."

Accepting the simple logic of that, Mirage nodded. He actually understood his SIC rather well, partly thanks to Jazz and partly due to similarities in their personalities. Mirage was drawn to those who were efficient, intelligent, cultured, and logical. It was from that similarity that he made an intuitive leap. "You don't trust our visitors." And his training and learned ability to read others added the second leap. "And you're quite frustrated because you have no hard evidence to support your distrust."

Prowl stared at him, then actually smiled. "Jazz trained you well." His doorwings slumped faintly. "I can prove nothing, which is exactly why you're teamed with Detour. I need to know if my suspicions are indeed correct, and your skills make you perfect to detect any problems. I cannot and will not risk our safety."

"I understand. It's ironic but also a necessity." Granted, Mirage would never want anyone to suffer what he had, but he would never make public, groundless accusations, either. "In that case, let me say that Detour was acting oddly on patrol. He said we should steal energy from Earth, a la Megatron-style. He didn't even think the humans were sentient. Honestly, sir, he sounded more like a Decepticon than an Autobot."

Prowl frowned, clearly disturbed. "I see. Please watch him closely, and report any other strange or suspicious conversations or behavior. Granted, I will also be talking with Detour since he seems inclined to be friends with me, but I need more than one of us on this task."

"Certainly, sir." As much as Mirage wished he were back on patrol with Hound, he would do his job and do it well. Even though he'd once been so rich he hadn't had to work, he'd accepted his fate and committed his spark to the Autobots. The Decepticons had destroyed his home, his entire life. He wouldn't let them destroy anything more.

Especially while sporting an Autobot emblem, if Detour were indeed a traitor.

oOoOo

Once his shift had ended, Blackjack swept through the orange hallways and slipped into his small quarters. He smiled to find all five of his comrades waiting for him. With half the base preparing to locate and retrieve the femme ninjabot, it was the perfect time for a staff meeting. It meant Hyperdrive and Road Hugger would be late for their shifts, but neither of them cared about that.

Detour glanced up from the berth he and Blackjack took turns using. Given the _Ark's_ expanding numbers, there were only two guest quarters with two berths a piece, so some creative sharing had been implemented. "Welcome back, C1. Duty shift go well?" He smirked, his sarcasm evident.

Blackjack forever relished his title and rank. The only good thing the Autobots had ever done for him was get rid of C1 and C2, enabling him to take command in a single klik. "That fragging Jazz is watching me nonstop. He tries to be slick about it, but I can tell. I think if I hit a wrong button, truly accidentally, he'd be all over me in an instant."

Yellow doorwings perked. "He _is_ Special Ops." Detour's sarcasm grew deeper.

Whisper snorted, crossing his spindly black arms over his chest as he leaned against the far wall. "Don't be insulting. He's a slagging poser."

The boxy, cyan mech lying motionless on the other berth sat up slowly and growled. Hyperdrive was clearly in a bad mood tonight. Then again, Hyperdrive was always in a bad mood.

Ignoring the growl, Detour chuckled at his own joke, and the two spindly, dark-blue mechs making out in the room's corner chose that moment to turn their attention to their leader.

"Does that mean you weren't able to get any intel today?" Road Hugger, their engineer, asked Blackjack.

Tailwind, their chemist, trailed a thin hand down his lover's arm. "Don't you two get in another fight."

Blackjack bristled. "I seem to recall ordering _you_ to get some intel, Road. You're the one on shift with those two flighty ones. What were their designations? Grappler? Beecomber?"

Road Hugger sighed. "The science terminal is not connected to the Teletraan mainframe. This is going to take some work."

The cyan hulk on the berth growled again.

Road Hugger shot a glare at Hyperdrive. "Don't growl at me."

"You can report your lack of progress to Shockwave tomorrow, then," Blackjack said, taking a seat at the small desk. If Road Hugger wanted to be so defiant, then he could do so right to Shockwave's face.

All five mechs grew still, and Detour's doorwings arched high on his back. "It's time for a status update already?" he asked. "Primus, we just got here."

"Shockwave is an efficient mech." He glared at the thin, black form of Whisper, irritated that their medic had made so little progress. "Interested in science. And results." He wasn't telling them anything they didn't already know. Shockwave had approached them one millennia ago, impressed with their scientific endeavors, and finding his attitude and beliefs more in line with their own, they'd teamed up with him. Of course, this was while Shockwave had been the supreme ruler of the Decepticons, before Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave had all miraculously returned from the dead.

Shockwave was not at all happy to only be the Chief of Science again.

"Yeah, well, he needs to keep his wires out of knots," Road Hugger snapped. "We have to kiss up to these Autobots a bit more, and if we can pretend to suck up to them, he can pretend to suck up to ol' Megs a bit longer."

Whisper sighed. "And if we fail to help Shockwave in his quest? What then?"

"Don't even say that," Detour replied. "We'll get some decent intel for him. We have to, or we'll probably find ourselves stuck on this mud ball."

"With Megatron convinced that we're still Autobots," Tailwind added.

Hyperdrive growled once more.

"We could sway Starscream." Blackjack crossed his arms. "It's the Seekers, after all, who most want to be able bond again." In a sense, the timing for starting up the Bond Project again couldn't have been better. Enough time had passed since the Golden Age trial that no one was likely to remember the PSF's gaffe, and the only set of split-spark twins in existence was stuck in a small base away from Cybertron proper. With Shockwave's backing, success, prestige and power were close at hand.

"Those stupid Seekers and their trines." Detour sneered. "Who in their right minds wants two bondmates? Besides, I thought it was dangerous to have a bond made of odd numbers. In ancient times, they always insisted on two or four or twenty or whatever."

Whisper shook his head. "It is. But Vos ran spark experiments to alter Seeker sparks enough to generate a trine. That's why Seekers were forbidden to bond with non-Seekers. It's also where M2 and R1 got the idea for our spark experiment."

"Which is the point here," Blackjack interrupted, corralling the conversation. "Seekers, out of all of us, are the most upset at Megatron's illegalization of bonding. It's one of the many reasons Starscream tries to overthrow Megatron constantly, and if Shockwave abandons us, we can exploit that."

Road Hugger snorted. "I truly doubt that Shockwave will abandon us. _We_ are the ones who can create a superior spark bond. Without us, Shockwave can't sway the masses to his side with an easy method to enable them to bond again."

"We may only have one set of twins at our disposal here, but it should be enough," Whisper said. "M1, M2, M8, and I were very close to breakthrough when the CAF raided us and hauled them away. A few more adjustments, and we should be able to take it to trial on a few trines." He frowned. "That is _if_ we can keep Jazz and Prowl off of us long enough."

Detour sat forward, his yellow doorwings flicking once in irritation. "Hey, I'll win Prowl over. You'll see. I've already got my fingers in the crack of his plating."

"And I'll take care of Jazz if need be." Blackjack's grin turned smug. "Those posers always think they're so good, but he's nothing." He snorted. "Besides, destroying Prime and the _Ark_ is part of the plan. If they get wise to us, we'll just wipe them out like our 'comrades' at Base Ceti."

"And what a beautiful sight that was," Tailwind sighed as Detour and Whisper laughed.

"Don't make it sound so easy." Road Hugger frowned. "Even Shockwave can't spare enough mechs and supplies to wipe out this place with Teletraan 1 and all their defenses up and running, and we don't have the supplies to do an inside job. I _have_ to get that intel, but the only way I can get through right now would set off every alarm in the base."

Hyperdrive growled yet again.

"Can't you do something other than growl?" Detour snapped. He received a murderous glare for his effort.

Blackjack shrugged. "If worst comes to worst, you can hack it right as we make our move. Steal the info on the way out."

Nodding, Road Hugger finally subsided into silence, Tailwind curling into his side in a show of support. Blackjack stared at the two dark-blue mechs for a moment, wondering if they would bond if their experiment were a success. The flick of yellow doorwings drew his attention to Detour, though. "Detour, up your flirtation with Prowl. We could probably never get him to join us; he _is_ a pixer after all. But at least he's not as useless as the rest of them. Surely you of all mechs can get some info out of him."

Detour grinned. "Yes, sir!" He made pinching motions with his fingers. "He has a nice set of 'wings and an equally nice aft, too. I should have some fun while I'm at it."

With a groan, Whisper sank his face into his thin, black hands. "Spare me the visuals."

Blackjack glanced at the others. "If any of you find an opening, try befriending Smokescreen and Bluestreak as well. I'm unconvinced we can get as much good intel from them as from Prowl, but we'd be fools not to scope them out." A chorus of affirmatives met this order, but then angry beeps erupted from Hyperdrive's and Road Hugger's comm. links. Blackjack jerked his head toward the door. "They want to know why you're late. Get to your shifts."

With a final growl, Hyperdrive stomped out of the room, followed by a more sedate Road Hugger. Blackjack watched them go, wondering how to handle Jazz.

oOoOo

With a growl, Sunstreaker stared down the minibots who wouldn't exit the elevator. Even on a good orn they were a chatty group, and with Brawn hurt, their worry expressed itself in endless yapping. Yapping that meant they weren't noticing the golden turbo-wolf towering over them.

"Move. It," he bit out, having no patience for delays when his lover was currently collapsed in pain against his side. Sideswipe, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, and he had been playing football with a few others outside, Spike having introduced them to the game. Everything had gone fine until Grimlock noticed and put in a few breems before his shift began.

Doorwings and clumsy, charging T-Rexes did not belong together.

Bumblebee looked up, saw Bluestreak's pinched expression and askew doorwing, and scrambled out. "Sorry, Sunny, Blue!" He hesitated when he saw Sideswipe supporting Smokescreen behind Sunstreaker. "Oh. Do I even want to know?"

Cliffjumper snorted as he stepped from the elevator, followed closely by Beachcomber and Windcharger. "No, you probably don't," Cliffjumper said, smirking. "There's no telling what kink they've been up to."

"No, Grimlock," Bluestreak whispered, his thin voice and otherwise silence betraying his level of pain.

With the minibots out of the way, Sunstreaker helped his lover inside the elevator and waited for his brother to do the same before punching the button for the second floor. The faster they could get to medbay the better. He absolutely hated seeing Bluestreak in pain. "Sorry," he whispered. "I was trying to tackle Grimlock before he got to you, but I wasn't fast enough."

Bluestreak gave him a faint smile. "It's okay. I'm not sure Prime could've stopped him."

"Yeah, you would've just been run over like I was," Smokescreen said, wincing as his bent doorwing brushed Sunstreaker's elbow.

Sideswipe, who had his arm around Smokescreen's waist, hugged him closer. "I'm sorry, babe."

The elevator deposited them on the right floor, and Sunstreaker rushed forward, intent on medbay. Third shift was covered via swing shifts by Ratchet, Hoist, and Wheeljack, but he wasn't sure which one they'd find. Although he liked Ratchet, Sunstreaker hoped he wasn't in. Bluestreak and Smokescreen were in enough pain without being yelled at for playing football with a Dinobot.

However, when they entered medbay, they found no one. Sunstreaker glared at the room. Was said medic back in his office? He paused just inside the doorway, trading glances with his brother. Just when he was about to help Bluestreak onto a medberth and go looking for the medic on call, Sunstreaker heard faint voices.

"Well, that's not much," came an unfamiliar voice from an office in the back.

"Better than nothing, eh?" That one sounded like Whisper, the visiting medic.

"I say just get the subjects and get started." A third voice, also unfamiliar.

Sunstreaker's attention snapped back to his brother. _::Subjects?::_ he asked over their bond.

_::What are they doing? Some kinda experiment?::_ Sideswipe frowned.

"Yeah, you heard what Blackjack said. We don't want any angry CO's bearing down on our afts." The first voice again.

Sunstreaker helped Bluestreak to a medberth, but he kept his attention on the conversation.

"Well, first we have to determine if their sparks are normal," Whisper said. "There's some chance they're not."

Sideswipe paused as he assisted Smokescreen onto another medberth and gave Sunstreaker an alarmed look, his optics flaring slightly. _::Abnormal sparks? What the frag are they talking about?::_

_::I don't think I like the sound of it, whatever it is.::_ Sunstreaker knew nothing about science or medicine past the most basic first aid, but he did know that abnormalities in sparks were not a good thing.

"I heard someone." The third voice spoke. "I think I have a patient."

Sunstreaker was sorry they noticed; he wanted to hear more of their odd conversation. However, fate ruled against it as Hoist chose that moment to enter medbay carrying a crate of supplies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Hoist set down the crate just inside the doorway and rushed over to them. "I went to get some supplies, and I thought Road Hugger was watching medbay for me. What happened?" He pulled a scanner from his subspace and began analyzing Bluestreak's injuries.

Although he allowed himself to get caught up in Bluestreak's treatment, Sunstreaker saved the incident to his memory banks, wondering if he should mention it to Ratchet.

oOoOo

Ordering his computer to turn off the lights, Prowl lay back on his berth, exhausted and ready for recharge. Midnight had come and gone, marking the latest he should be online, and yet he'd still been in his office, drafting a tentative plan for rescuing Nightbird and looking through the information collected by the Logger in medbay. Sure enough, Whisper had accessed both Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's files, and while the former could be explained, the latter could not be. Also, someone had done an unauthorized search to see what information they had on twins in general. Whoever it was had good enough hacking skills not to set off an alert, but without knowing the Logger was there, they couldn't dodge it. Prowl sighed, offlining his optics. Unfortunately, everything was going as he predicted. For now, though, there was nothing else he could do except take care of his basic needs.

Or not. He couldn't even initiate his recharge program before his comm. link beeped. ::Optimus to Prowl.::

Groaning, he opened the line. ::Prowl here.::

::Report to the main entrance,:: Optimus replied. ::Hyperdrive has managed to cause an altercation.::

::On my way, sir. Prowl out.:: Prowl onlined his optics and pushed himself upright. It had to be bad if Prime had been called out. Granted, he'd put Hyperdrive with Grimlock to ensure equal footing in a fight, but given their personalities, maybe his choice hadn't been so wise.

A few kliks later, Prowl decided 'bad' was not an adequate description. He stared at the area in front of the _Ark_ with something akin to awe. All the sand was blackened, holes were blasted into some of the boulders, and random flecks of metal glittered in the moonlight. Prowl wondered that the officer in charge for the night — Wheeljack, he thought — hadn't sounded the alarm.

A weary-looking Prime watched his reactions silently, and Prowl decided that since the sentry guards were missing and his recharge had been interrupted, he wasn't interested in seeming prim and proper. "What the frag?" he asked, letting his friend and commander see his irritation.

Optimus actually chuckled. "Well, it would seem that Hyperdrive is either very prideful or very stupid."

"Or both?" Prowl suggested.

"Indeed." Prime sighed. "Hyperdrive and Grimlock were our posted guards for the night, as I'm sure you remember, and Hyperdrive decided to pick a fight with Grimlock. Or at least that's what the security footage shows. As you can see, they managed to do a considerable amount of damage to both the area and themselves before Wheeljack could deploy enough mechs to stop them."

Prowl had an urge to slap his hands to his face, although he resisted on principle. "Primus." He wondered briefly if Ratchet would assume Hyperdrive's behavior was the result of the psychotic break Praxian converted-warrior models had due to stress and grief.

"I've pulled Road Hugger out of Science to cover Hyperdrive's shift, and Hoist says he can return Grimlock to duty in a few kliks." Prime gestured down the hallway, where Road Hugger had just turned the corner and was heading for them. "The question becomes 'what do we do with Hyperdrive?'"

Prowl nodded. He had a few lovely ideas, but none Optimus would appreciate. "Is he in the brig?"

"Yes." Prime paused while Road Hugger assumed his new post, then gestured for Prowl to follow him. They headed toward Prime's office.

Prowl accessed Hyperdrive's record as they walked and shook his head. "Five counts of aggravated assault just in the last stellar cycle? Punching a superior officer? Why is he even out walking around? He should be serving out the rest of a prison sentence in our brig."

"What are you thinking?" Prime sounded as exhausted as Prowl felt as they climbed on the elevator.

Normally, Prowl handled all disciplinary action for the enlisted while Optimus handled it for the officers. Strictly speaking, Optimus was not allowed to influence Prowl's decisions in any way, but clearly Prime had much on his processor. Prowl wondered if it had to do with what he'd said about their visitors being guilty of past crimes. "I'm thinking we should suspend his right to carry a firearm for the rest of his tenure here and give him three decaorns in the brig. Granted, I need to review the security footage, get statements from both Grimlock and him, and have the punishment hearing. However, I'm not disposed to take this lightly." _Not based on my past experiences with Hyperdrive and his hyper-violence. He didn't get his designation randomly._

Optimus hit the pause button, stopping them between floors. He looked like he wanted to say something, then stopped and nodded. A moment of silence followed. "Instead of going to my office, how about a nightcap?"

"Sounds lovely." Prowl didn't normally drink high-grade very often, but a stiff drink sounded good at the moment.

Optimus selected the officers' quarters' level instead. "Prowl, you know I hate jumping to conclusions, especially if it means assuming my mechs have committed a severe offense."

_These mechs aren't yours,_ Prowl thought. _The PSF was effectively a fifth column, an empire inside an empire, and I doubt that has changed._ "I know, sir."

"As in the recent accusations made concerning Mirage's being a traitor, I want solid proof. In the absence of proof, I like to believe the best." Again, Prime sounded weary.

One of the things Prowl loved about Optimus, even if he couldn't always understand it, was his idealism. Prime was a mech of vision, of possibilities, of dreams, of optimism, and of brighter futures. "Indeed."

"But this incident with Hyperdrive has me concerned. When it's matched with your obvious distrust of our visitors, I find myself hoping my confidence in them is not misplaced." Prime gestured for Prowl to precede him as the elevator door opened.

That tiny cue told Prowl that Optimus was sliding out of officer mode and into wooer mode. "I'm afraid, as you well know, that I do not share your optimism, and if I get hard evidence, you will have it immediately." He sometimes wondered if Optimus had been named such due to his unwavering optimism or his optimal specs and talents. He wanted to say more about what he suspected, but he still lacked said hard evidence. A few accessed files, even a hacked one, wasn't enough to convict anyone of anything, and Prowl felt the burden of proof was solidly on his shoulders.

Optimus nodded once, and the subject was summarily dropped, more because Prowl sensed that Prime was currently carrying too much stress than anything. They still needed to rescue Nightbird, but they had to have the intel Bumblebee was collecting on his recon mission before they could act. Brawn, who had been injured during the battle in Japan, would need surgery, and Prowl knew Optimus was concerned about him. In the meantime, it was anyone's guess what horrible things the 'Cons were doing to Nightbird.

Entering the keycode for his quarters, Prime once again gestured for Prowl to enter. Prowl took a seat on the couch, wondering if there was anything he could do to lessen Prime's burden. Optimus had a bad habit of carrying the universe on his shoulders, and although he delegated tasks well, he still worried too much.

Optimus poured them two small cubes of high-grade and joined him, handing him one. "To an orn's worth of peace and quiet." He held up his cube.

Prowl clinked his against it. "I can drink to that." They both knocked back the energon in a just a few gulps and thunked the cubes on the table. Prowl relaxed against the couch as the warmth raced through his lines and circuits.

"Based on what I've read about ninja, or _kunoichi_ in this case since she's a femme, I hope I don't end up fighting Nightbird," Optimus said, leaning back as well. "Somehow, though, I can imagine Megatron trying to convert her into one of his warriors."

Prowl didn't cherish that thought, either. On impulse, he reached out and squeezed Prime's hand. "We'll take care of it. We always do." _Primus,_ he thought, _That high grade must be getting to me quickly._ The room did seem rather warm suddenly, and he didn't have a high tolerance.

Retracting his battle mask, Optimus smiled at him. "Thank you."

They stared at each other, hands clasped between them, and Prowl found he couldn't look away. His entire arm was tingling from their touch, and ever since they'd danced, Prowl had been fighting the urge to make his feelings known. He was tired of hiding his love for Optimus. For Jazz, too. He wished it all weren't so complicated; he wished he could just _act._ Irritated with himself, he leaned toward Prime abruptly.

Apparently that was all the invitation Optimus needed. He leaned in as well and reached up to brush his fingertips over Prowl's lips before gently trailing them across Prowl's cheek and jawline. Prowl shifted into the touch, pressing his cheek into Prime's hand, and obviously taking the cue, Optimus cupped his helm and closed the distance between them.

Their lips met, and in an instant, Prowl's imagination went wild, taking him from romantic to passionate. He could see himself pulled into Prime's lap, strewn across it in fact, with his thighs spread wide . . . Prowl's vents hitched, and he cupped Optimus' face in his hands. Abandoning himself to the kiss, he slipped his glossa into Prime's mouth, drawing a faint jerk of surprise from him, but then they were caressing each other's glossae, memorizing each other's tastes. Prime moaned and ran his arms around Prowl's waist, pulling him closer.

Kissing Prime felt just as good as he'd imagined it would. Warm lips were now sucking on his bottom lip, and he in turn sucked on the top one. He wanted to lose himself in that kiss, in the arms that held him. To love and be loved. Their glossae met and caressed once more, drawing faint moans from them both. He ran one arm behind Prime's helm, and Optimus reached out, stroking across the flat of one doorwing.

Prowl jerked back with a gasp. If there was anything he'd learned, it was that mechs without doorwings failed to understand just how sensitive they were. "Careful, or we might suddenly find ourselves in a place we didn't expect, and I don't think either of us are much interested in one night stands."

Sitting back, Optimus nodded, and an awkward silence settled between them. Belatedly, Prowl realized he'd forgotten to refuel that evening and that the high-grade was the only thing in his system. He stared at Prime's red chestplates. "I'm sorry. I'm making everything complicated between us."

"You?" Prime sounded astonished. "I'm the one who kissed you, not the other way around. It's hardly your fault."

_But I sent you the right cues. In fact, I made it more intense._ Prowl shook his head faintly. "I am interested in you. I can't pretend that I'm not. But there's a whole lot going on here, much more than a simple to-date-or-not." _Much more. More than you can probably accept or understand._

Prime nodded. "The war. It complicates everything, especially potential relationships between Primes and their SICs." He smiled gently. "You're right; we should table this for now. But I'm not sorry we kissed."

Prowl smiled up at him. "Good. Me, neither." _ As long as I don't hurt you._

Optimus held out his hand. "However, if you don't mind an occasional bit of simple affection?"

Scooting over, Prowl leaned into his side instead. "I don't mind."

Encircling his shoulders, Optimus pulled him close. "If this works for you, it certainly works for me."

"It works." Prowl rested his head against Prime's shoulder. _Dangerous,_ part of Prowl whispered. _He doesn't really know what he's getting into, and neither do you._

It was true. He was playing with the proverbial fire, blackening his fingers and scorching his circuits, and if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't be the only be to get hurt.

oOoOo

_Long, yellow rays of sunlight spilled across the wide metal desk before them. Given the time of stellar cycle it was, Night Stalker knew Cybertron was currently receiving its light from Alpha Centauri A. Another few decaorns and their orbit would bring them closer to the other star in their binary system, Alpha Centauri B. He focused on that minute detail, trying to distract himself from the situation he and his twin were in. He felt very much like they'd been called to the Headmaster's office for punishment, likely for another of Maverick's infamous pranks. But this was not a school._

_Maverick, who was sitting in the chair next to his, reached over and gave his shoulder a play-punch. "Hey, bro, it'll be fine. Don't worry."_

_Night Stalker wasn't so sure about that. They were losing their home, losing their creator, and being brought into an organization he'd only heard bedtime stories about as a sparkling. "I don't want to be a soldier."_

_"Hey, don't be that way." Maverick grinned at him. "Just think: we can shoot to be officers, like our creator was."_

_The door swished open, revealing a tall, boxy, black mech. "Good afternoon, young sirs, and welcome to the Praxus Special Forces." He swept over to his desk, setting his datapad on it before he took a seat. "My designation is Blackjack, although you will refer to me by my codename and rank, C3. That's Commander 3. I'm the third-in-command here." He glanced over the datapad._

_Night Stalker peeked at his twin and reached over their bond. _::Third? Doesn't that make him some kind of bigwig? Isn't that guy a bit too important to talk to younglings?::

_Maverick, though, was far more self-confident. _::Well, he was our creator's friend for millennia. And ya never know. They're trying to recruit us as younglings, after all. I guess we're just special.::

_Night Stalker doubted that. Split-spark twins were rare, but he didn't see why that would get them any special treatment. He also didn't believe that their creator's old, out-of-touch friend would see them as special just because of the past acquaintance._

_"So, twins, huh?" Blackjack smiled at them, setting down the datapad again. "That's unusual, considering you're infused and not sparked. Usually only a twin can spark twins, but you two seem to have come directly from Vector Sigma. Is that correct?"_

_Or maybe it would. "Yes," Night Stalker murmured, adding quickly after the fact, "sir."_

_"Fascinating. Well, I'm sorry to hear your creator is in such poor health." Blackjack smiled that smile Night Stalker associated with mechs who didn't really like younglings. "But he was smart to sign the release form for you to take our academy's entrance exam."_

_Night Stalker's doorwings slumped on his back. Their creator, Torino, had gone his entire life without bonding or having sparklings. Once he'd retired from his position as president of Praxus University, he'd commissioned a protoform to be built and gone to Vector Sigma to ask for a spark. The spark, though, had split into twins, creating a medical emergency. Despite this inauspicious beginning, Torino had loved his creations, and Maverick and Night Stalker had lived happy lives. Until now. Until the elderly Torino had developed a weak spark and been given little time to live._

_Blackjack was still grinning. "Your exam scores and grades are all exemplary. Granted, you're only 14 vorns old, and normally even with creator consent we'd make you wait until you were 16 vorns old. But the circumstances are . . . _unusual_."_

_For a moment, Night Stalker got the creeps. He glanced at his brother again, noting the way his royal blue doorwings were tensed high on his back. _::He sounded weird when he said that.::

::I dunno. Our problem is weird. Besides, our creator wouldn't be friends with a jerk.::_ Those blue doorwings lowered, and Maverick gave him a small smile._

_Night Stalker didn't relax, his own black doorwings still perked high. He'd been told he was really good at reading mechs, and he wasn't one to dismiss his intuition. Not to mention Torino and Blackjack actually hadn't spoken in several vorns._

_Blackjack leaned back in his chair. "We're willing to accept you into our academy for basic training. We won't take it easy on you just because you're young, though. You'll have to pass by the same standards as everyone else. If you pass, you'll be finishing your prep school work as you continue your training. With grades like yours, you can probably do accelerated studies. It won't be easy, but your creator thinks you can handle it, and so I do." He paused, that pervasive grin never wavering. "Torino and I served together for five millennia before he decided to get his terminal degree and pursue academia. Did he tell you that? He's a good mech. I'm sorry to find out he has so little time left." He sighed, as though having accessed poignant memory files. "Well, are you up to following in your old mech's footsteps?"_

_"Yes, sir!" Maverick scooted forward a bit in his chair, all his fear hidden under a not-entirely-faked excitement._

_Night Stalker suppressed a frown. Maverick, who had soaked up Torino's stories of being in the service, had always wanted to join the PSF once they were adults. Night Stalker had not._

_"Well, let me tell you how this works," Blackjack continued. "We're not much like the Cybertron Armed Forces, even though we're technically a division of them. We secured permission to run things our way long ago." He stood abruptly, walking over to the viewscreen on his wall and activating it. Grainy historical footage of battles popped onscreen. "You see, the PSF began in ancient times as Praxus' militia, and then during the Warring States period we were Praxus' standing army. We are now a part of the CAF, of course, and as our name suggests, we run 80 percent of the CAF's black ops missions."_

_Maverick bounced slightly in his chair. "Cool!"_

_For a split instant, Blackjack's smile almost seemed real. "However, there's more to the PSF than covert ops. We stayed as true to our roots as we could. We have a full company of Enforcers here, not to mention a Science and Medical department. You can be anything you want without ever transferring out to the main CAF." He sounded disdainful, as though the CAF were subpar._

_"Like how our creator became a great scientist, sir?" Maverick asked, his optics shining brightly._

_"Exactly." Blackjack touched the controls, and a grainy picture of a platoon popped up. Torino and Blackjack were standing on the front row side-by-side in the photo. "That's exactly why we're very upfront here. We select those mechs who we see as good material for becoming officers and/or pursuing advanced degrees, and we get them into officer school and degree programs." He turned off the viewscreen and plopped back into his chair. "Let's be frank. You two have top notch processors and the kind of excellent programming I would expect from my old friend. I want to see you through basic and done with your prep school studies in three stellar cycles. At the end of the vorn, I want to see you in officer's school. In three vorns, I want to see you as lieutenants — or, here in the PSF, that's called rank 12. You have talent, and we're going to bring it out to the fullest. You got me?"_

_"Yes, sir," they both answered. Night Stalker wasn't sure whether to feel complimented or scared._

_"Excellent." Blackjack pulled out a new datapad. "There's also a unique opportunity you can take advantage of, one that is sure to ingratiate you to C1 and C2, our high commander and second." He turned the datapad's screen toward them, and they could see a spiral-shaped emblem there. "It's called Project Bond, and as twins, you are perfect candidates for all it has to offer . . ."  
_

oOoOo

When his doorchime buzzed, Prowl opened the door and gave Jazz a small, understanding smile. "You've had quite the orn," he said, bowing Jazz into his quarters.

Sighing deeply, Jazz let his shoulders slump. "Primus, what a nightmare!" He stepped inside and headed straight for Prowl's couch. "Who would've thought Nightbird could so totally kick our afts? I knew we had a problem when she handed Prime's aft to him on a silicon wafer."

Prowl had been following the battle from the command deck, so all he'd been able to do was watch Nightbird's progress on Teletraan's monitor. "Indeed. It was quite a sight."

Jazz flopped on the couch and sprawled there, his legs spread wide. "I'll be glad when we get her back to Dr. Fujiyama in the mornin'."

Letting his gaze travel down Jazz's body, Prowl couldn't help appreciating the curves and general view. "Well, how about something to take your mind off it?" Tonight was their usual night to play chess together. They'd developed a fondness for the human game and asked Wheeljack to make a set for them, and now they played once a decaorn.

Tilting his head, Jazz smiled up at him. "That would be great!"

Prowl returned the smile and pulled the game from his storage closet. While he set the board up on his desk, he considered the previous night and the kiss Optimus and he had shared. He hadn't wanted that kiss to end, yet at the same time he wished he could kiss Jazz. He would have never imagined himself stuck in such a position, but considering the complications of his past, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

"Prowler? Do ya remember that experiment Wheeljack was workin' on?" Jazz asked, shifting on the couch to watch Prowl work.

Growing stiff, Prowl felt a chill race through his circuits. "You mean the one that is supposed to knock a mech's essence out of his body?"

"Yeah. Do ya think he could make it work?" Jazz folded his arms on the couch back and propped his chin on them. "'Cause if we'd had somethin' like that today, we might've been able to use it on Nightbird and saved ourselves alotta trouble. Assumin' she achieved sentience, I guess."

Prowl stared at him, horrified. "I suppose. But what if the 'Cons stole the plans from us or developed a similar device after seeing ours? They'd probably make the spark displacement permanent." Once again, his processor stuttered at the thought of what, exactly, that might mean.

He didn't realize just how vehement he sounded until Jazz's visor flared. "Whoa, Prowler. Yer not likin' this idea, are ya?"

"Experiments on sparks are dangerous," he replied curtly. "Let's focus on less disturbing things, shall we? Would you like some energon? I have a small stash of mid-grade."

Jazz perked up. "Sure!" He bounced off the couch and headed to Prowl's small cabinet. "Do ya want some, too?"

"I'll get it." Prowl followed him to the cabinet, trying to be a good host.

"No problem, man." Jazz pulled out the storage cube and two smaller cubes.

As Jazz popped off the top, Prowl grabbed the small cubes and held them for him. The domestic nature of the scene struck him, and he had to smile. In fact, he suddenly became aware of how close they were standing, and he thought he felt a waft of heat from Jazz's armor. Once their portions had been poured, he set down the little cubes while Jazz stored the larger cube again.

Jazz glanced up at him and grinned. "Thanks," he said, gesturing at the mid-grade. "I really needed this. Ya always know how to get me to relax, ya know?"

Prowl knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't find the will to stop. He looped his arm around Jazz's waist and pulled him closer. Jazz's lips parted slightly in surprise, and Prowl's gaze fixated there as he noted how soft they looked and their faint shine. Part of him demanded that he 'even the score,' despite the fact neither Jazz nor Prime would likely ever know the difference. He caved to the shaky logic and more so to the burn of desire and affection that shot through his circuits.

"Primus, you're beautiful," he found himself saying, and then he bent down and captured those lips.

Jazz responded immediately, running his arms behind his neck and pressing into the kiss. Stroking his hand up Jazz's canopy, Prowl pulled their bodies flush, their armor rubbing together. He could imagine himself worshipping Jazz's body, kissing down his hood, licking his headlights, caressing his hips . . . Prowl shuddered and moaned at the mental images, slipping his glossa into Jazz's mouth and cupping the back of Jazz's helm with his free hand. Jazz sucked on the invading glossa before meeting it with his own, and one of his hands wandered down to Prowl's doorwing, stroking the edge.

Breaking their kiss with a gasp, Prowl grabbed Jazz's arm and lowered it. "Careful, or we'll have 'faced without even going on a single date."

"And that's bad why?" Jazz chuckled, but he didn't try to touch the doorwing again.

Prowl hugged Jazz's waist. "Because I'm not looking for a casual 'facing partner."

"What are ya lookin' for?" Jazz grinned at him, reaching up to brush their lips together lightly.

_Trouble, apparently,_ Prowl thought, mentally kicking himself. "Well, the timing is all wrong now, but what I imagine is something long-term and committed."

Jazz's grin didn't waver. "I can do that."

_And so can Prime,_ Prowl thought. "The timing and circumstances have to be right," he repeated quietly. He couldn't imagine how they ever could be, given the size of the problem, but he didn't rule out any and all chance for future happiness.

"The war?" Jazz asked, smile dying. "Because we're the SIC and TIC? This fraggin' war is ruinin' all our lives, and it doesn't look to be endin' any time soon."

Prowl reached up and brushed Jazz's check with his fingertips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I should have controlled myself better."

"No! No." Jazz shook his head. "I'm not sorry."

Smiling, Prowl relaxed. "Just as long as I don't accidentally hurt you."

"Not gonna happen," Jazz said, leaning into their embrace.

Prowl sincerely hoped that were true.

* * *

_Postscript: For those who might find it useful, there's a list of the story's rare canon characters and slang terms below._

_PSF — Praxus Special Forces  
Sokii — PSF slang for "officer"  
Pixie— PSF slang for civilian Praxians  
CAF — Cybertron Armed Forces (a.k.a., Autobots, pre-civil war)  
Pixer— PSF slang for a Praxian in the CAF instead of the PSF  
Poser — PSF slang for a CAF special ops agent_

_**Ex-PSF agents on Earth**__ —  
Blackjack, commander. Black, boxy like Ironhide.  
Detour, his SIC. Yellow with doorwings.  
Hyperdrive, warrior. Cyan, boxy like Ironhide.  
Tailwind, scientist (chemist). Tall, spindly, navy blue. Imagine a really thin Perceptor, minus the scope.  
Road Hugger, engineer. Tall, spindly, dark blue.  
Whisper, medic. Tall, spindly, black._


	5. So It Begins

_A/N: There will be a break in your scheduled programming next week for the one-shot OPxP __**gift fic I promised the "Loveless" reviewers.**__ It's a special edition "Firsts" for Optimus and Prowl! After that, we should be back to normal._

_If you don't recognize him, Strikedown is a canon character._

_PL2363 has drawn a picture of Maverick and Night Stalker for me. I'm going to ask her to post it at LJ, and hopefully I can give you a link next time._

_Thank you for the reviews! Everyone should have gotten a reply or PM, but for the ones I'm unable to respond to personally, thank you to Christina and TylaraRemember. I appreciate your feedback!_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 5: Sic Infit  
**__**or So It Begins**_

Staring at his computer screen, Prowl growled. The teetering stacks of datapads on his desk should have scurried away at the uncharacteristic snarl, but they remained still, undisturbed by their owner's irritation. That is until Prowl thunked one fist upon the desk surface, causing the nearest pile to topple over with a crash. Prowl paid them no heed, though, his attention focused on his findings: the Logger showed that several searches on general spark information had been run. However, he was getting nowhere. Again, the file access itself wasn't inherently harmful or suspicious. Whisper could cite dozens of reasons to be reading about sparks. To everyone but Prowl, the activity could be explained away.

To get anywhere, Prowl needed hard evidence. Specifically, he needed the PSF's files on their experiments, preferably both the old records and new ones. The old records would show just how harmful the experiment was, and the new ones would flatly state their intentions for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Better yet, he needed proof that he knew what he was talking about. The PSF trial records were useless for that. Prowl's testimony had been recorded with his designation omitted, his face blurred out, and his voice altered. He needed proof from inside the PSF itself.

Then again . . .

Sighing, Prowl pressed his fingertips against his temples. Proving his connection to the PSF was dangerous. Everything he had done had been to save Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but he couldn't ignore the fact he was increasing the threat toward himself, too. Not to mention each step he took closer to revealing his role would ultimately increase the danger not only for himself but also the twins.

There was no easy answer. He needed enough evidence to build a case and present it to Optimus, and that data had to be clear enough to sway not only his optimistic, idealistic Prime but also the entire command staff. At the same time, he couldn't get himself or the twins killed in the process.

Prowl dropped his hands and stared at Sunstreaker's painting of Iacon, the one he'd specifically requested for his office. The yellows and blues of city lights shone from the nighttime panorama, offset from behind by sparkling stars. He allowed his mind to wander momentarily, then realized he could only start at the beginning: recon and intel-gathering. Decision made, he opened his comm. link. ::Prowl to Detour.::

::Detour here. What may I do for you, sir?:: came the reply.

::Report to my office. I'd like to take you up on your earlier offer for a listening audio.:: Prowl frowned to himself, bracing himself for a decidedly unpleasant task. Fortunately, the only ones to know Prowl was suspicious were Prime, Jazz, and Mirage, and therefore they would be the only ones to find it odd that was Prowl 'hanging out' with Detour. He could explain if and when he were asked.

::Certainly, sir! I'm on my way. Detour out.::

First logging himself off-duty, Prowl cleared his screen of the incriminating evidence and schooled himself for the highest level of extroversion he could manage. Only a few kliks passed before his office door chime buzzed, and Prowl hit the release, admitting his visitor. When Detour entered, Prowl widely and openly smiled and stood in one graceful motion. Anyone who knew him would have crashed their logic circuits at the sight, but Prowl forced himself to execute his plan. "Thank you for coming," he said, stepping from behind his desk and sweeping to Detour's side. "I suppose it's wrong of me to complain about my work, but it's not often that I find a sympathetic audio." He put his arm loosely around Detour, invading his personal space and gazing into his optics.

"No problem!" Detour grinned at him, leaning into the one-armed embrace. "Everyone needs to vent sometimes."

Prowl couldn't decide whether to feel amused or disgusted by the way they were so obviously using each other. It was a logical fallacy to assume two wrongs made a right, but at the same time, he was too determined to save the twins to care much. "Why don't we retire to my quarters, then?" He realized with a wave of distaste that he'd probably have to kiss Detour later that evening to make this believable.

Reaching up to press his fingers against Prowl's chest, Detour nodded and smiled. "That sounds wonderful, _Sokii_ Prowl."

With sudden inspiration, Prowl stole a line from Optimus. "Don't call me 'officer.' We're both off-duty now." He turned Detour toward the door and prayed he could make it to his quarters without being seen. He didn't want word to get back to Jazz or Prime and leave them with the wrong impression. Fortunately, since it was mid-second shift, no one was milling the hallways, everyone either being on duty or off playing hard. Prowl managed to whisk Detour into his quarters without meeting a single other mech, and he hoped the mech at the security monitors wasn't the gossipy type.

"Your cabin is quite nice," Detour murmured as they entered his room.

"Thank you." Prowl crossed the room and opened his storage cabinet, pulling a mid-grade energon cube from his small stash. "Would you like something to drink?"

Detour grinned and joined him. "Certainly." He helped Prowl pour two smaller cubes, and then they wandered toward Prowl's sitting area.

Prowl settled on his couch, laying one arm along the back and feeling curious to see if Detour would sit beside him. Unsurprisingly, Detour didn't disappoint. He sat sideways by Prowl, turned toward him with his doorwings flared behind him. In fact, he positioned himself close enough that his knee pressed into Prowl's thigh. Taking the cue, Prowl wrapped his arm around Detour's shoulders, which prompted him to scoot closer.

Sipping first from his cube, Detour smiled at Prowl. "So you had a work overload today?"

"Well, between the incident with Nightbird and Hyperdrive — " Prowl began.

"Oh. I'm _so_ sorry about that." Detour set aside his cube. "He can be a real problem sometimes. When he's good, then he's good. But when he's bad, he's really bad."

Prowl smirked and set aside his cube as well. "I noticed he has a colorful record."

"Yeah, he does." Detour sighed. "He was in a horrible mood that night. I was hoping he'd pull himself together, but in retrospect, maybe I should have warned you."

It struck Prowl suddenly that the fact Detour had said nothing about his foreknowledge might indicate some kind of plan. Had Blackjack wanted Hyperdrive to end up in the brig? If so, what in the universe for? Deciding subtly was unnecessary, Prowl charged forward with his plan. "Maybe so. It has cost me extra work today." He tilted his head, giving Detour a playful smile.

"Oh?" Detour seemed to detect his intentions. "And what can I do to make it up to you?"

Prowl reached out, cupping Detour's cheek and running his thumb down his cheekseam. "I don't know, but I'm sure I can think of something."

Laughing, Detour leaned in. "Really, now?"

Leaning forward as well, Prowl pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, consigning himself to perhaps literally using his cleaning supplies on his lips and mouth later that night. "Yes," he said as he pulled back. "It's been one of those orns when your desk seems to explode with incident reports. There have been fights, pranks, and mechs running amuck, with Hyperdrive's fight with Grimlock being the highlight of my orn." He let his sarcasm show through. "Did you have orns like that back on Base Ceti?" He needed to get Detour to talk about himself, his own duties, Base Ceti, and their projects, and the best way to do that was to swap stories, especially since it would make Detour think he was getting the chance to probe Prowl himself for information.

Detour laughed. "All the time! Primus, there was this one time when Road Hugger was working on the matter transporter, and Hyperdrive got into a fight with this other mech, and Hyderdrive blew him straight through the hallway's wall and into the lab, and it destroyed all the work Road Hugger had done that orn. And then Road Hugger tried to kill Hyperdrive." He sighed abruptly. "It was a disaster."

Finding that story to be an interesting insight into the two mechs, Prowl continued with his tactic. "That sounds like the time that Sideswipe constructed a mech-sized paintball gun and was chasing Smokescreen with it, only to miss his shot and hit Sunstreaker instead. It was bad enough that Sunstreaker was suddenly covered in aqua paint, but then he'd also just finished detailing himself and putting on a fresh coat of wax. I thought we'd have a murder on our hands." He watched Detour closely to see how he reacted to the mentioning of the twins.

"I take it Sunstreaker likes his paint tidy?" Detour's optics brightened ever-so-slightly. "I admit I was shocked to find twins here. They're so rare! Always were, of course, but that's what makes them so fascinating."

Prowl felt a frigid surge through his circuits at the show of interest, but he hid it well. "I'm surprised there's been so little research done on the phenomenon, given its rarity."

"I know! And there are so many fascinating questions to ask." Detour pouted. "They say there used to be more information before the war started. I guess we'll have to rebuild that knowledge base, huh?"

Affecting curiosity, Prowl jumped at the opening. "Why, was Base Ceti heavily into medical research?" Although he'd kept tabs on several ex-PSF agents and knew the basics about the base at Tau Ceti, he didn't know anything more than had been officially reported.

Very subtly, Detour stiffened then relaxed again. "Not heavily, no. We researched in multiple areas: medicine, weapons, synthetic energon — lots of things, really." He waved one hand through the air dramatically. "Of course, that meant tons of mechs running around the base, and that meant tons of trouble waiting to happen."

Realizing now was not the moment to push, Prowl backed off momentarily. "Even with the small number of mechs here, there's plenty of trouble to go around."

"Well, let me take your mind off it, then. I know the best way to cure a bad orn." Detour grinned, running one hand up Prowl's arm.

Stifling a groan at the pickup line, Prowl played along and brushed their lips together, then captured Detour's lips, sucking gently at the bottom one. Detour pressed into the kiss, running one arm behind Prowl's neck, and teased his lips apart with his glossa. Meeting the invading glossa with his own, Prowl wrapped his other arm around Detour's waist, pulling him halfway into his lap.

The plan was simple: alternate between making out and asking 'innocent' questions amidst 'deep' conversation designed to look like Prowl was trying to get to know the target of his affections better. If Detour showed hesitation or signs of suspicion, Prowl would shift them back towards kissing. He suspected Detour would try something similar on him as well.

The ultimate goal, though, was to secure an invitation to Detour's cabin on Flattop for more 'privacy.' Prowl suspected it was a shared cabin, given that Flattop wasn't overly large, but with most all the PSF mechs planet-side, the request would make sense. Primus knew that Prowl was interrupted at least every three breems even when off-duty, and Detour would no doubt learn that this evening.

All Prowl had to do was figure out how to dodge 'facing Detour, which he had zero interest in doing, and accomplish his target: hacking the mainframe inside Flattop for the records he needed to reveal his connection to the PSF and prove they were still experimenting on twins.

oOoOo  
_  
_

_Night Stalker glanced up from his mission notes as his brother bounced into their quarters. True to Blackjack's half-prediction, half-demand, they had both qualified for officer's school and achieved lieutenant by the age of 17 vorns. Maverick was now S12, Saboteur rank 12, and his excitement over being an officer could not be tamed._

_"You did it!" Maverick danced between their berths, his royal blue paint and white racing stripes sparkling faintly in the sunlight streaming through their window. "Detour actually gave you the mission! Mech, we're _good._" Still grinning, he plopped on Night Stalker's berth beside him. "What'cha looking at?"_

_"My tentative plan." Night Stalker handed his datapad to his twin. "Look it over and tell me if you see any problems." Despite his request, Night Stalker wasn't worried. He was Infiltrator rank 12, so his mission to go undercover in a science lab would be easy. He stood and moved in front of their mirror. Medical had already given him an alternate transformation sequence that would hide his doorwings, and a temporary new paint job would finish his disguise. But for now his gaze lingered on his black paint and crimson racing stripes; he always had felt that Maverick was better-looking. Night Stalker thought there was too much black in his design, basically broken only by his crimson chevron, stripes, and thighs._

_"Your paint will be all backwards," Maverick teased, looking up from the plans. "You'll be almost solid red."_

_Night Stalker gave him a small smile and practiced his new transformation a few times. Strangely, the more he moved around, the more he began to feel ill. "Slag," he groaned, taking on his usual root mode again and clutching at his chest as his spark erupted into a burn. "Mav!"_

_Maverick was at his side instantly. "What's wrong? Your spark hurting again?"_

_"Yes," Night Stalker hissed, another wave of nausea crashing through him._

_"Okay, let's get you to Medical." Maverick took his elbow and steered him toward the door._

_Night Stalker didn't resist, but he did have misgivings. "You sure we can trust M1? The way he looks at us now, it's like we're not even mechs."_

_At first, Maverick didn't reply. They quietly made their way out of the officers' quarters and across the compound's grey courtyard to the medical wing. "I dunno," he finally whispered. "My spark burns sometimes, too. Let's see if we can get N2 instead of M1 or M2."_

_Night Stalker nodded. N2, or the nurse named Strikedown, always took their complaints seriously and seemed concerned for them. Neither the CMO nor the other medics did anymore, though. The longer the twins had been in Project Bond, the weirder some of the medics and scientists had begun to act. Some of the other twins in the study had indicated they were dropping out, and since Night Stalker hadn't seen them since, he guessed they had. But Night Stalker and Maverick believed in the project's goal: to strengthen twin sparks enough that when one twin died the other would still be able to live. If Medical and Science succeeded in their experiment, then the technique would be offered to bondmates the world over. No mech or femme would ever be automatically doomed to death again from the breaking of the bond unless they chose to refuse the procedure._

_As Night Stalker and Maverick neared the medical wing, the doors triggered open, and cool air washed over them. All the hallways were bright white, almost blinding, and it made Night Stalker's processor ache. His tanks lurked abruptly, making the nearest clusters of sensor nodes ache. "Hurry," he muttered._

_Maverick barely got him to the main desk before he purged his tanks. N2 was just down the hall, and in a few kliks he got Night Stalker into an examination room. Unfortunately, it was M4, Whisper, who came in next._

_"Having some nausea, eh?" the spindly black mech asked, frowning._

_Night Stalker returned the frown. He might have only been a youngling, but he wasn't a fool. He was beginning to suspect he couldn't trust M4, M1, M2, or M8. He glanced at Maverick, who was hovering by his bedside. _::Watch him, Mav. I don't trust him.::

::I'll never let anyone hurt you, bro.::_ Maverick took his hand and squeezed it, then turned to M4. "Is he having a reaction to those chemicals you put on our sparks?"_

_Whisper waved his hand through the air. "Of course not. We stopped the chemicals too long ago for him to be having a reaction now. And the heat we used last time was just a stimulus response test."_

_Night Stalker frowned. He's had to study chemistry for his upcoming undercover role, and something wasn't adding up in M4's story. "But heat added to chemicals can have a very powerful effect. What chemicals, exactly, did you use on us?"_

_"Oh, please. It was just a few drops. It's long gone from your spark. I'll have you back on your feet in a joor." Whisper swept out of the room, and N2 entered with a bag of fluids. M4 and N2 didn't even look at each other._

_N2 went about setting up the bag and spiking Night Stalker's line. "Look," he said, his voice low. "I know M4 doesn't believe it, but I think you're experiencing side effects. I know I'm 'just a nurse,' but I've been in the medical field longer than M4 has been alive. I know side effects when I see them." He reached out and squeezed Night Stalker's shoulder. "Keep pressuring M4 or the others about your symptoms. You need to take care of yourself."_

_"I will. Thank you, Strikedown." Night Stalker smiled at him, but N2's words iced his lines. What exactly was being done to them? And if they were in real danger, who could they turn to? The PSF was part of the CAF, the highest law of the land. In fact, the PSF was _better.

_Who could possibly help them?_

_-o-_

_The morning Night Stalker was due back from his mission, Maverick awakened and immediately gasped in pain, clutching at his chestplates. Night Stalker had stayed undercover for six decaorns, but that wasn't nearly long enough to put their sparks out of calibration. Or, rather, it shouldn't have been, but Maverick experienced that strange, sideways, listing feeling, like he had consumed high grade and wasn't walking in a straight line. Of course, he was currently flat on his back, and that made the near-dizziness all the more disorienting. Plus it hurt. Their sparks always ached when their energy became misaligned, but this time the ache was accompanied by burning. He wished desperately that his brother would return soon and felt glad he was off-duty for the orn._

_Primus answered his unspoken prayer, it seemed, because less than a joor later, Night Stalker entered their quarters. Maverick glanced up, sensing his brother was upset, and his spark ached and burned with the need to be realigned. Still, he tried to cheer up his brother first._

_"Welcome home, dear!" he joked, grinning. He scooted over on his berth and motioned for his brother to join him. By the time their sparks got this far out of calibration, physical touch felt like a necessity. It was odd, though, that they needed to merge again so soon. Usually they could go an entire stellar cycle unless they were injured enough to be in stasis, which always delayed it. "How was work?"_

_Night Stalker snorted, but he climbed onto the berth and into his brother's one-armed hug. "Fine. I discovered that that lab is working on a method to make non-winged mechs flight capable."_

_"_What?_" Maverick was stunned by the mere concept. "Non-jet mechs that can fly? No way!"_

_Night Stalker snuggled close to him, which inevitably melted his spark. Given that Vector Sigma drew their combined spark out of the Matrix, there was no 'separation order' between them, but Maverick sometimes felt like he could be an older brother. Night Stalker was admittedly more mature, and even now Maverick occasionally played pranks. However, Night Stalker had an indefinable quality, a certain emotional openness that made him vulnerable, and Maverick had strong urges to protect him. "Hey, are you feeling sick again?"_

_Night Stalker flinched. "I'm not going back to medical. Mav, we have to talk. I think something big is really badly wrong here."_

_"Okay." Maverick hugged his brother closer and turned more toward him. "But let's make you feel better first. You feel it too, right? That we're already outta alignment?"_

_Shuddering faintly, Night Stalker rested his head on his brother's shoulder. "Yeah. It's bad enough I almost feel dizzy."_

_Maverick reached up and cupped his brother's cheek. "Then let's merge, okay? Maybe if we realign our sparks, we won't feel so sick." Primus, he wanted to spare Night Stalker this illness. He wanted to protect him, take care of him, stop his pain._

_Night Stalker nodded and immediately scooted down to lie on the berth. "Go slow, all right? I feel like I'm going to purge." He parted his chestplates and bared his spark._

_"Sure." Maverick climbed atop him and settled between his knees. Once he'd opened his own spark chamber, he hovered over his brother, watching Night Stalker grimace in pain. A single tendril reached down from Maverick's spark, calling his brother's. After a klik, an answering tendril stretched upward to meet it. For a moment, Maverick felt nothing, and he wanted to cry. Why wasn't he sensing his brother yet? Just what had the experiment done to them?_

_A second tendril joined the first, and Night Stalker's own fear suddenly felt as though it were inside Maverick's processor. _There you are!_ Maverick thought, relieved. Night Stalker mirrored his relief, and unable to keep them parted any longer, Maverick carefully pressed their chests together._

_Soft sighs escaped them as their consciousnesses bled together. _Are you scared? Yes. Me, too, but I'm here with you. Love you, bro. We'll find a way out of this, make a plan, use our skills. Yeah, we have to or we'll probably end up dead. Please push deeper inside me; I need you. Anything for you, bro.

_Maverick and Night Stalker both willed their sparks to fully merge and align, but still they felt separate. Anxious thoughts flew over their connection. _Why is this taking so long? I don't know. Why is it so hard this time? I don't know that, either. Please, bro, push deeper. I am, I am!

_Finally, Maverick could feel that oneness, that sense that he and his brother were a single spark again. The vague sense of wrongness that followed them around vanished along with the physical pain and illness. Warmth replaced it, heat, rightness, love. They relaxed into each other, forcing more energy into the merge as they tried to climb into each other's bodies and sparks. Maverick onlined his optics, wanting to both see and feel his brother's serenity, and he cherished the sight of Night Stalker's peaceful expression, the faint smile on his lips._

_An errant thought hit him, and Maverick reached down, pressing his hand against his brother's thigh. Night Stalker had propped up both his knees to take the pressure off his lower back, and Maverick stroked from his ankle up his calf and over his thigh. Night Stalker onlined his optics, too, glancing at him in confusion._

_Maverick both felt his brother's confusion and experienced his own. He wasn't sure what this feeling was. He only knew he wanted Night Stalker to be happy. To feel something other than nausea and fear. He leaned down and brushed their lips lightly together._

::What are you doing, Mav?::_ Night Stalker's question rang through their merged selves, but he didn't emotionally or physically push him away._

::I don't know,::_ Maverick answered truthfully. He pressed their lips together again, awkwardly trying to adjust the angle for a deeper kiss. More confusion raced over the bond, but Night Stalker kissed him back. Maverick's need to erase his twin's pain was shared between them through the merge, and he reached up and caressed his fingers over Night Stalker's doorwing._

_A lightning bolt of pleasure shot through them both, making them gasp._

::What was that?::_ They weren't sure which one had the thought. With a shaking hand, Night Stalker reached up and traced the edge of Maverick's doorwing. The surge of pleasure ripped moans from them both. They stared at each other in shock, optics glowing white, unsure what they should think about this new development. Finally, they both reached out, grasping the edges of each other's doorwings and rubbing. They cried out, bucking into each other as sharp ecstasy shot through them, but they didn't stop. They kept rubbing, generating waves of friction and pleasure, and their sparks seemed to surge. They yelled as their systems overloaded, then collapsed in a heap together._

_For long kliks, their frames popped as their bodies released the extra heat. Their sparks had retracted, and their chestplates drew closed._

_"I think we just overloaded," Night Stalker whispered, clearly embarrassed._

_Maverick grimaced. "Oops."_

_An awkward moment of silence followed._

_"I think we probably shouldn't touch each other like that while merged." Night Stalker's mortification flowed through their bond._

_"Definitely not," Maverick agreed. "That was pretty weird."_

_Bizarre or not, he really wasn't sorry to have interrupted Night Stalker's pain.  
_

oOoOo

Double shifts were not Prowl's favorite orns. However, command of the base during third shift was covered on rotation by Prowl, Optimus, Jazz, Wheeljack, and Red Alert, and tonight was Prowl's turn. He'd be working two shifts in a row.

With a sigh, Prowl glanced down the length of the command deck, noting each mech at his station. Granted, some of the terminals had been lost in the crash, and now cracked screens, twisted chairs, or stalagmites took the place of what had once been a pristine deck. But Wheeljack had rerouted functions until they had what they needed. Although, given the drooping mechs finishing the third shift, what they needed most was recharge. Inferno sat at the security monitors, staring at various screens. Skids had the comms, and Huffer the science station. Prowl himself manned Teletraan, and that was exactly what he needed. With the other mechs wilting at their posts while still fighting to concentrate on their work, Prowl had the perfect opening to plant the second Logger under Teletraan.

After one final, casual glance to assure no one was looking, Prowl pulled off a basic, classic maneuver. He dropped his datapad, bent down, and picked it up and shoved the device in place simultaneously. He stood once more, gazing toward the door as though wishing Optimus would come to relieve him of his shift, and surreptitiously checked to see if he'd drawn any attention. No one had even budged. Satisfied, Prowl initiated the uplink on one of the smaller monitors, acting as though he were simply doing work. A klik later, the device was running perfectly.

Having once again programmed the Logger to log unauthorized searches, Prowl knew he had the capacity to check any information illegally retrieved from Teletraan. Also, the Logger further restricted the PSF's access, which in turn also meant they couldn't contact, upload, or download anything from Cybertron to Teletraan. Even if he accomplished nothing else, Prowl had shored up Teletraan's internal defenses.

Heavy footsteps drew Prowl's attention toward the doorway, and Optimus entered the command deck, ready to relieve him. "Good morning, Prowl. Any notable activity?"

"Good morning, sir." Prowl gestured at Teletraan. "None. All the patrol teams have reported no incidents, and the night's highlight was Swoop accidentally landing too close to a pack of wolves and causing a commotion in the woods."

Optimus chuckled. "That's boring enough to suit me. You're relieved."

"Thank you, sir." Prowl gathered his datapad and headed for the door.

"And Prowl?" Optimus called.

Prowl stopped and faced him. "Sir?"

"Refuel before reporting for first shift. That's an order." A mixture of teasing and concern filled Prime's voice.

Prowl gave him a small smile. "Yes, sir." He swept into the hallway only to nearly run over Jazz. He stopped abruptly, reaching out to steady his friend.

"Whoa, Prowler." Jazz grinned at him and held up both hands as though to defend himself. "I was just comin' to force ya to refuel before ya locked yerself away in yer office."

Prowl fell into step beside Jazz as they traversed the hallways. "Everyone is so fascinated and concerned with my fueling habits as of late," he teased.

Jazz laughed. "Well, considerin' Ratchet promised to convert ya into a satellite dish array if ya ever collapsed from underfueling again, ya can't blame us."

"I suppose not." Prowl felt the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Jazz had been looking out for him for vorns.

"Was yer shift borin'?" Jazz suddenly shot him a sly smile. "I bet it was. Ya always complain if I listen to music when on the command deck, but I bet yer goofin' off, too!"

Prowl could tell Jazz was in a great mood and was up to something. "Of course I wasn't."

"Yeah, right." Jazz snatched Prowl's datapad from his hands. "I bet if I look on the screen here, I'll see some kinda word game or logic puzzle."

Hiding his amusement, Prowl tried to grab it back. "Don't be silly."

"Not silly? That's a tall order." Jazz danced out of Prowl's reach. "Get it back if ya can." He darted down a side passageway.

"Jazz!" Prowl had no choice but to give chase; Jazz was in one of his mischievous moods. "I'm supposed to be refueling and reporting to my office, not hunting you down!"

It was a lost cause. Jazz slipped around the far corner, and Prowl ran after him, torn between delight and exasperation. They dashed through several deserted hallways, blindly making turns as Jazz's laughter floated back to Prowl's audios. Finally, though, Jazz either accidentally or purposefully chose a hallway that ended in a stone wall. He turned to face Prowl, dropping into a vaguely defensive stance, but Prowl charged him, wrapping him up in his arms and whirling him around.

"You are incurably silly," Prowl said, holding him close to keep him from slipping away again.

Jazz ran his arms around Prowl's neck. "Ya like it." He grinned up at Prowl.

Suddenly Prowl became aware of how warm their bodies were, how nice their plating felt rubbing together, and just how very much he wanted to kiss those smiling lips. He started to lean down, paused as his own impish streak hit, and just barely pecked Jazz on the mouth. Then he reached back, grabbed his datapad, and subspaced it. "Got it back."

Jazz laughed. "Tease!" He tugged Prowl down, melding their lips together and running one hand down Prowl's canopy.

Prowl wanted to smile, but he couldn't with those lips massaging his. He moaned into the kiss, unable to control his desire, and cupped Jazz's cheek, running his thumb over his cheekseam. His energy field seemed to explode outward, rushing over them both in a hot wave, and he flicked Jazz's lips with his glossa, asking permission to enter. When Jazz parted his lips, Prowl delved into his mouth, caressing his glossa with his own, and he shuddered as his circuits tingled with the pleasure. He slipped one hand between Jazz's canopy and lower back, rubbing his plating and drawing a moan from him.

Recognizing that he was getting too aroused, Prowl brutally snapped his control back into place, but as he pulled away, he captured Jazz's glossa, passing it slowly through his lips. Finally, he leaned back, panting to draw cool air into his intakes, and smiled. "I thought I was supposed to be refueling, not burning more energy."

Jazz melted into his embrace, leaning his head onto his shoulder and pressing a quick kiss to his neck. "It was worth it."

Prowl shivered at the little kiss and realized he couldn't disagree.

oOoOo

Simply put, Prowl wanted to kick himself.

Rounding the corner to Optimus' office, Prowl tried to focus on the task at hand: Grapple had reported success at building a solar collector for Flattop, and with Prime's approval, Prowl would be sending a team consisting of Cosmos, Grapple, Hoist, and Road Hugger, the PSF engineer, into space to install it. That was all he needed to think about; it was all he should have been thinking about. _Well,_ he admitted to himself, _maybe except that the second Logger might bring me more evidence._ But no. His processor was replaying, repeatedly, his kiss with Jazz.

And more than that, his processor was sending him a warning: 'you are going to hurt your loved ones.' That warning wasn't helped any by the fact he'd had to kiss Detour while fighting to gather intel. At least he had, in fact, secured an invitation to go with Detour up to Flattop.

Prowl felt torn on multiple levels: the part of him in love with Optimus battled the part in love with Jazz, the part that urged caution warred with the part that urged action, and the part that worried about hurting his loved ones defied the part that wanted his own needs fulfilled. He felt as though his entire cerebral cortex would explode with the building pressure.

He had to control himself better. He had to.

Stopping in front of Prime's office door, Prowl buzzed the door chime and was admitted. "Good evening, sir." After pulling his double shift, he was fairly exhausted, even if both Bluestreak and Jazz had ensured he remained well-fueled. As soon as he finished this bit of business, he could go off-duty.

Optimus glanced up from his terminal, his optics glowing brighter momentarily. "Good evening, Prowl."

Finding a faint smile tugging at his lips, Prowl cherished the softer tone with which Optimus now said his name. "The solar energy collector for Flattop is finished." He handed over the datapad with the details, mission plan, and team members.

After reading it over, Optimus nodded and signed off on it. "Good. The sooner we're rid of our visitors the better." He paused, then stood and walked around the desk. "Prowl, I didn't want to mention this because I didn't want to further upset you, but I feel you should know that I accessed the ancient trial records on the PSF."

Prowl stiffened, wary, and his doorwings hiked up high on his back. "What did you find?"

"Not much. The file was corrupted." Optimus leaned against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suppose I should have mentioned that earlier, but you seemed to be carrying too much stress over the situation already. Plus you seemed . . ."

"Biased?" Prowl knew how he had to look.

Optimus hesitated. "Yes. Even now I must point out that the fact the file is corrupted means nothing about the mechs presently on our base."

"Indeed." Prowl couldn't deny that because any number of mechs over the millennia could have arranged the file corruption. "But I can't pretend that I'm not watching them closely."

Retracting his blast mask, Optimus gave him a smile. "I figured you would be." He canted his head. "Anything I should know?"

"Nothing that counts as proof." Prowl wondered if he should reveal what little he had, and his doorwings pulled further up with the stress of the decision. "They've run searches on twins and sparks, some of them unauthorized." He left his means of knowing that information purposefully vague.

Optimus shook his head. "Not good, but hardly conclusive. We could punish them for the unauthorized searches, but there could be any number of reasons for them to research twins or sparks. Even assuming your fears are justified, we would need much more hard evidence before we could file charges or make arrests."

That was an understatement. "Of course, sir." Prowl frowned, realizing his instincts were correct. Although it was dangerous to prove his connection to the PSF, if he didn't move quickly enough, it would become more dangerous not to prove it. The stress of that thought made his tanks lurch, and Prowl fought off a grimace as pain shot from one doorwing down his arm. He had held them too stiffly. He lifted his shoulder and rolled the socket, trying to alleviate the pain, only to gasp as a bolt of fire seemed to rip through his doorwing, shoulder, and arm.

"Prowl?" Optimus was at his side instantly. "Did you pinch a wire?"

"I — " Prowl found he could barely talk. He hated going to medbay, but the pain was too sharp to resist doing so.

A gentle hand grabbed his wrist, holding his arm out to the side. "Hold on. This used to happen to Elita a lot. I know she didn't have doorwings, but let me try." Optimus stepped behind him, and a second hand lifted his doorwing gently. "Okay, keep your arm steady." He pulled on his shoulder, shifting carefully.

The searing pain abruptly subsided. "You did it," Prowl gasped, nearly wilting with relief. A pinched wire under a doorwing was not a pleasant experience. His gasp nearly turned into a moan, though, when Optimus didn't release his doorwing. Instead, he caressed its expanse until he reached the doorhinges and began massaging them.

"I'm sorry," Optimus murmured, his voice rumbling with his engine. "I can tell this is not a pleasant subject for you, but I know you'll remain vigilant. And we'll take action if we have to."

As grateful as he was to have his concerns taken seriously, Prowl couldn't find his voice to formulate a reply. Large, warm hands were now massaging his doorhinges, knuckles brushing his doors, and his entire back tingled. He leaned his head back onto Prime's chest, his optics dimming and lips parting as a moan slipped from his vocalizer. In response, Optimus turned him in his arms, his strong hands tracing a pattern over Prowl's body in the process, until one palm settled against his lower back and the other hand cupped his face.

"I know we shouldn't, but — " Whatever else Optimus was going to say, he interrupted himself by leaning down and capturing Prowl's lips, molding them together.

Prowl ran his arms around Prime's neck, his circuits tingling as arousal burned through his circuits, and Prime's energy field flared into his, mixing their energies as Optimus softly sucked his bottom lip. A small part of Prowl protested that he should stop, but like with Jazz, he found he couldn't stop. So when Optimus swept his glossa teasingly between his lips, Prowl responded by caressing his own glossa against Prime's. With their hot plating rubbing together, Prowl couldn't stop a second moan, and he pressed against Prime's chassis, generating more friction. Hands splayed over Prowl's canopy, soft gasps escaping from their lips as they shifted, their expanding energy fields sending a ripple over Prowl's sensory net. Finally pulling back, Optimus slid his glossa over Prowl's one last time, then he once again molded their lips together, sealing the end of the kiss. For a long moment, they stood embracing each other, panting.

"So much for self-control," Optimus muttered, chuckling ruefully.

"Indeed." Prowl wondered briefly if he weren't headed straight for the Pit, the guilt already biting at his spark. He could _not_ keep alternating back and forth, kissing each when the other wasn't looking.

The problem was he was also incapable of choosing between them.

oOoOo

Leaving the rec room, Jazz bounced faintly with each step, enjoying his internal radio as well as the fact Prowl and he had kissed again. Despite the irritation of having Blackjack on the command deck with him earlier, he was in a wonderful mood. He looked up and saw Optimus headed in his direction and grinned. "Hey, Prime!"

"Hello." Optimus stopped in front of him. "Stop by my office in the morning. I'd like to discuss a mission for Mirage, one to Cybertron."

Jazz's curiosity was immediately provoked. "Oh?"

Prime nodded. "Apparently Ultra Magnus' special ops chief wants to utilize his specific talents."

"Ah." Jazz grinned. He'd put personal effort into refining Mirage's skills and was proud of how highly competent and in-demand he'd become. "Sure thing, sir."

Bumblebee exited the rec room and approached them. "Hey, sirs! Having a good night?" He gave Jazz a playful smirk. "Well, I guess I know what that smile is for, huh?" He nudged Jazz's side with his elbow. "I saw Prowl and you tucked down that hall."

Jazz stared at him a moment, shocked. Had he been so caught up in the experience that he hadn't noticed another mech's approach? Not good. "Oh, ya did, did ya?" he replied, matching the teasing tone and realizing that the one who had sneaked up on him was someone he himself had trained.

"Uh-huh." Bumblebee laughed. "I saw both Prowl and you put your mouths to better use than usual." He slapped Jazz on the shoulder as he slipped past. "Good luck!"

Jazz laughed as well until he turned and saw Optimus glaring at him. "Prime?" he asked, suddenly worried. There were no rules against officers fraternizing, but Optimus did seem vaguely interested in Prowl himself. _Surely he only has a mild attraction, though,_ Jazz reasoned. _He's probably only now easing out of his grief over Elita's death._

"Excuse me?" Optimus demanded quietly, then held up his hand. "No, wait. Come with me." He pivoted and headed back down the hallway toward his office.

Following close behind, Jazz internally fretted. Clearly Optimus was angry over the news of the kiss, but the question was why. Because they'd been caught in a public place by Bumblebee? Or because Optimus had a crush on Prowl? Jazz frowned to himself, a sense of determination rising in him. If it were the latter, he was willing to put his entire spark and soul on the line for Prowl. It seemed like his desire to have a relationship with Prowl was finally coming into fruition, and he would do anything to protect that.

Inputting his key code, Optimus admitted them into his office. Once the door was closed, he faced Jazz. "Am I to understand that Prowl and you were kissing in the hallway?" His tone sounded carefully neutral.

Jazz held up both hands, deciding to pursue theory number one first. "We were off in an unused hallway, and we thought there was no one around, sir. We didn't mean to be disruptive. Promise."

"You kissed?" Optimus repeated, anger tinting his voice this time.

Realizing that his second theory was correct, Jazz steeled himself for an argument. Still, he tried to remain calm. "Yes." He dropped the 'sir' this time, realizing this discussion was personal, not professional. "Look, I've noticed the way you've been lookin' at Prowl and the way ya held him durin' the twins' spark-date party. I can tell yer attracted to him, and he's a great mech. It's understandable." He sighed, hating to quarrel with Prime but too determined to back down. "However, ya should know that I've loved Prowl a long time. Vorns, in fact. Finally, things are beginnin' to heat up between us, and I intend to pursue it."

"Things are 'heating up'?" Optimus sounded incredulous, but then he leaned in, his voice rising slightly. "What exactly do you mean by _that?_"

Jazz realized Optimus was more interested in Prowl than he'd anticipated. "Well, we've kissed a couple of times and talked a bit about both what Prowl is lookin' for in the future and what I'm willin' to do. We're lookin' at a future relationship here." He crossed his arms, holding his ground.

"_What?_" Optimus seemed to be suddenly towering over him, bearing down.

Jazz was momentarily flummoxed by the strength of Prime's reaction; however, where Prowl was concerned, he would never back down. Still, he schooled himself to remain cool, and inhaling deeply through his vents, he tried again. "Look, I get that yer crushin' on Prowl, but—"

"'Crushing'?" Prime's optics surged over-bright. "I'd say there's more between us than a _crush_."

Jazz growled, suddenly defensive. "What do ya mean by that?"

Drawing himself up to his full height, Optimus stared down at him. "We've also kissed a few times and discussed a future relationship. He indicated he was interested in _me_."

Jazz suddenly remembered seeing Prowl exiting Prime's quarters late one night, and a blaster shot seemed to rip right through his spark, the pain erupting through his chest. "_What?_" He wasn't sure which to react to first: the fact he had competition or the fact Prowl was kissing and discussing a relationship with someone else behind his back. His emotions felt scrambled for a moment, then his competitive streak won. "Ah, no! I don't think so." He raised his hand, jabbing one finger toward Prime's face. "Prowler's _mine._"

"Is that so?" Prime jabbed one finger into Jazz's face as well. "Well, I don't think you have the right to make up Prowl's mind for him. I don't know why he kissed you and said those things to you, but I fully intend to pursue him."

Jazz leaned closer, as close as he was going to come to getting into Prime's faceplates, his temper fraying. "I thought ya just said Prowler should be makin' up his own mind."

"Don't you dare imply I'm a hypocrite." Optimus and Jazz both formed fists, on the verge of punching each other.

"What is going on?" came a flat, icy voice from behind them.

Jazz and Optimus both halted, arms raised, and slowly faced the glowering Datsun staring them down from Prime's doorway. Jazz hadn't even heard the door chime buzzing, but apparently Prowl had definitely heard the yelling and let himself in.

And beat of silence passed, and then Jazz and Optimus both turned toward Prowl. "Why did you kiss _him_?" they asked simultaneously, pointing at each other.

Prowl flinched, his doorwings jerking high on his back and his optics flaring. "What? I — " He raised both hands in front of his chest. "Please don't fight over me. It's my fault; I shouldn't have kissed either one of you!" He whirled and ran out the door.

Shocked silent, Jazz stared after him. He'd never seen Prowl react in such a way to anything. "What the frag?"

"Why did he run?" Optimus asked at the same time. "Prowl never runs."

They shared a leery glance, sizing each other up.

"We'd best act professionally about this," Optimus said, visibly shifting back into his commander mode.

Jazz forced himself to calm down and do the same. "Yeah, we should. Sir." Tenseness hung between them, thick and roiling. The issue with Prowl would not be easily solved. Both their feelings were hurt, Jazz suspected, and yet both of them apparently wanted to be with Prowl. "I guess we'll just have to talk to him and find out what's up."

"Indeed." Optimus walked around his desk, sitting down and crossing his arms. "You're dismissed."

Jazz nodded and left without further comment. Although he was determined to win, he didn't want to damage his friendship or professional relationship with Optimus, either. However, he wasn't sure such a solution existed.

oOoOo

Sunstreaker sat at his corner table, or so he'd mentally dubbed it, surveying the rec room. Mechs were milling in and out, grabbing energon or friends, setting up games or watching human television on the viewscreen. Sideswipe lounged beside him, his chair kicked back to balance on its hind legs, and nursed a cube of energon. Bluestreak and Smokescreen were in medbay, getting their doorwings checked up from their previous Grimlock Damage, but they'd insisted the twins didn't have to accompany them. And so they waited in the rec room. Bored.

Bored, that is, until Prowl entered. Sunstreaker was profoundly glad Detour was absent from the room. He couldn't stand watching that pretentious mech throw himself at Prowl. Prowl didn't exactly get out much, and Sunstreaker was afraid that he might fall for the slagger's wiles.

Sunstreaker conveniently ignored the fact he cared one way or another whether Prowl got hurt.

_::He's moving slow tonight,::_ Sideswipe murmured over their bond. _::Must be tired.::_

Knowing his brother meant Prowl, Sunstreaker nodded, his gaze sharpening. No. It was more than exhaustion. Prowl's doorwings were hanging low, almost slumping, and his optics were dimmed. A frown slipped out from the control of his stoic mask, and his posture seemed rigid.

_::He's trying to hide it, but he's slagged over something.::_ Sunstreaker wished he knew when Prowl had become more to him than some random CO. _::I'm not really sure why I give a frag, but Primus, I can't help it.::_ He sighed explosively, only to grumble again. _::But . . . Prowl does look disturbed.::_ Even though Sunstreaker had a reputation for being impatient or arrogant with others, the truth was that when he decided he cared about someone, he applied himself a hundred percent, just like with painting or fighting.

Sideswipe watched Prowl drag from the room. _::Yeah, you're right. But I doubt we can do anything to help.::_

A wave of irritation mixed with depression washed over Sunstreaker. _::How did Blue get so lucky?::_ He didn't begrudge his lover, but he couldn't help wishing for some kind of connection. He growled, making several nearby minibots jump. _::We gotta do something.::_ And there was where his thought process broke down. He had no clue what to do.

"Yeah, we gotta try," Sideswipe said aloud, clenching his fist on the table. "Dunno what, but . . . Ah, slag, let's just go!"

They both stood as one, leaving behind their half-finished cubes for now, and headed out the door. Even though they didn't really talk about their feelings concerning Prowl, the twins' lovers had noticed it. Smokescreen thought their veiled need to be close to Prowl was odd, although it didn't bother him. Bluestreak thought it was 'wonderful,' that Prowl was 'wonderful,' and that it would be 'just wonderful' if they pursued it. They themselves only knew they felt a nameless need and, being mechs of action, couldn't stop themselves from reaching out, even if it meant playing pranks on him.

Seeing Prowl halfway down the hallway talking to Red Alert, they approached slowly. "I hope Red leaves soon," Sideswipe whispered.

"We can arrange that," Sunstreaker replied, determined to subtly scare him off if they had to. However, they could hear Red Alert thank Prowl, and then he walked off.

"Problem solved," Sideswipe muttered as they honed in on their target.

Sunstreaker felt every cable in his frame tense. "But what do we say?" Those doorwings were slumped again. Prowl had lifted them while talking to Red Alert, but as soon as Red faced away, they'd lowered. Sunstreaker knew doorwingers well enough to know what that meant: Prowl had erected a façade for Red, pretending to be okay when he wasn't.

"I just — I dunno. I'll think of something." Sideswipe perked up, erecting his own façade, and smiled at Prowl as they approached. "Hey, sir!"

Sunstreaker wasn't sure letting his brother take the lead was a wise move, but unless he could find a way to insert himself into the conversation naturally, he didn't have much of a choice.

Prowl faced them, totally expressionless, stoic mask obviously in place. "Good evening. How may I help you?"

Sunstreaker noticed something then, and he was so stunned his surprise slipped over the bond immediately. _::He didn't raise his doorwings!::_

Pausing before he spoke, Sideswipe seemed to regroup. _::You're right! He's not hiding it around us. Is that good?::_ "How about how can we help you?" He clasped his hands in front of his chest rather theatrically, pretending to be half-serious and half-silly. "With all those extra mechs running around here, it's gotta be a bore. They causing problems for you?"

Sunstreaker saw his chance. "I can plant one or two in the bulkhead. Mirage is always whining that we need decorations in the rec room."

A small, barely-there smile perked up Prowl's lips, and he gazed at them quietly, his doorwings fluttering once.

For a klik, Sunstreaker thought his spark would explode. A smile for him? For them? And that fluttering — did it mean they had lifted his mood? Doorwing flutters could mean a few different things, he'd learned. His spark seemed to suddenly scream out, aching in his chest. _Fraggit, let me do something to help!_

Canting his head to the side, Prowl finally spoke. "It depends," he replied, utterly deadpan. "Would you be planting them face-first or feet-first?"

Shocked, Sunstreaker answered honestly. "Head-first."

Sideswipe burst into laughter. _::He made a joke!::_ he yelled over their bond. _::With us!::_

"Ah, well, I suppose I should say no." Prowl's little smile remained, and his doorwings perked up. "I don't think that is the kind of décor Mirage had in mind."

Sideswipe's peals of laughter filled the hallway, and Sunstreaker let himself grin back at Prowl. Prowl nodded to them, then headed toward the elevator. Once the doors opened, though, his doorwings slumped again as he climbed inside.

For long moments, the twins stared at the elevator doors after they'd closed.

"He joked with us," Sideswipe repeated, his waves of longing, of wanting, of _need_ pouring over their bond.

"And he smiled," Sunstreaker added, his spark aching, burning, still wanting to reach out. "And for a moment, he seemed better, but . . ."

Sideswipe sighed. "But we couldn't really ask him what was wrong. We couldn't really help."

They turned toward each other, clasping forearms in a comforting gesture. "What do we do?" Sunstreaker asked. "How do we . . ."

"Get closer?" Sideswipe finished for him. "I don't know, bro. I just don't know."

* * *

_Postscript: The song for Prowl and Detour is "This Moment" by Disturbed. Watch here (take out the spaces): www . youtube . com/ watch # !v = 2NXt4e5ydac & feature = related_

_"It seems your pride has been stolen since you stood up to me.  
I'll tell you now you know I think I really like it,  
So learn a lesson from someone who will  
Never repeat the many tragic mistakes of his past."  
-"This Moment," Disturbed_


	6. With a Military Hand

_A/N: This chapter alludes to "The Core," which I have taken some creative license with._

_**Picture of Maverick and Night Stalker by pl2363:**__ http: / pl2363 . livejournal . com / 41681 . html (Take out the spaces.)_

_Since this is an AU, I'm following Sunstreaker's universe toy: he has a jetpack, too.  
_

_Thank you to everyone for the reviews! A special thanks, since I can't PM you, to Christina, AquamarineRagDoll, won't be the Victim, and helmboy for your feedback! Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed "Firsts: Optimus and Prowl."_

_Very mild kink warning._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 6: Manu Militari  
**__**or With a Military Hand **_

The following morning, Jazz wasted no time getting to Prowl's office. If he knew Optimus at all, Jazz knew he'd think long and hard about what he wanted to say before confronting Prowl. Jazz, though, didn't need to think. He needed to _act_. And he wanted to talk to Prowl before Optimus did.

Jazz barreled through the orangey-gold hallways, headed towards the offices. Discovering Prowl had kissed Optimus and discussed a relationship with him still stung as much as it had the night before. In fact, he couldn't make it stop hurting. It had lingered in his tanks, following him through the night and prickling through his lines. Why? Why had Prowl kissed Optimus, too? Wasn't he, Jazz, good enough? Mech enough? It was definitely a slap in the face. And then, to top it off, he'd heard an ominous rumor concerning Prowl and Detour.

When he reached the door in question, Jazz steeled himself and buzzed the chime. A tense, wary "enter" answered, and the door slid open. "Prowl," he said, stepping into the office.

Prowl had a mass of datapads spread over his desk, and he didn't look up from them. His doorwings immediately flew into a sharp **V**, though. "Jazz." His voice was too quiet.

"Look at me, slaggit!" Jazz marched over to the desk, the door sliding shut as he cleared it. "I want to know why ya kissed Optimus. Why did you discuss startin' a relationship with him, too?"

Prowl stared up at him, the hand holding his datapad trembling faintly. "What you ask is actually a very complicated question with a very long answer."

"Try me." Jazz crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm not even sure you'd believe me." Prowl's voice was still too quiet. Thin, strained, whispery. "You'd think I was insane, or at the very least you'd demand proof, which I don't have. Yet." An intense, determined frown thundered across his face. "But I will get it. I will make this make sense for you." He glared down at his mass of datapads.

"Oh, ya will, will ya?" Jazz was not in a cryptic mood. "Well, let's just start with somethin' basic. Do ya have feelings for me or not?" The pain lashed through his spark, sending painful electric surges through the circuits in his arms, and he drew up to his full height. "Seriously, Prowl. Do ya? Or is this some kinda game? Ya kiss me, then ya sneak off and kiss Optimus, too?" He leaned over Prowl's desk, pondering mentioning Detour, too. "Is one mech not good enough for ya or somethin'?"

The thunderous frown on Prowl's face seemed to crawl upward, narrowing his optics as they surged overly bright. "Yes, I have feelings for you. No, it's not a game. I would never make a _game_ of your feelings, or Optimus' for that matter. To be honest, I shouldn't have kissed either one of you. I can't start a relationship with either one of you due to complications beyond my control, so I apologize. I will not kiss either of you ever again. I will cease my flirting at once."

That was not the answer Jazz wanted to hear. It was neither the reaction he wanted nor an option he would accept. Despite the ache in his spark over finding out Prowl had feelings for another, Jazz still loved Prowl, still wanted to spend his life with him. He couldn't imagine a future without Prowl, his subtle smiles, his quiet humor, and his care. They shared a compatibility he'd never found in another, a balance of personalities enriched by their differences. And despite those differences, no one other than Prowl so perfectly valued what Jazz did, believed as he did, and wanted from life what he did. "It can't be that hard." He couldn't stop the desperate appeal from working its way into his voice, and he held out his hands. "Choose _me._"

Prowl dropped his datapad and sighed out his vents. "I wish it were that easy, Jazz, but it's not. Like I told you, I will make this make sense. I just need proof." He slammed both fists down onto his desktop, making the datapads jump and topple over. "I need proof for all of this!"

Jazz stared at him, confused and irritated. "'All this'? Don't tell me yer goin' on about the PSF again. What could they possibly have to do with Optimus and me?"

"More than you think," Prowl muttered, frowning.

"_What?_" Jazz shook his head. "Well, then tell me this: why the frag did ya take Detour back to yer quarters the other orn? Seriously, Prowl. As if it ain't bad enough to be runnin' off with Optimus behind my back, yer also seein' Detour, too? Besides, don't ya hate those ex-PSF mechs?"

"So someone did see me with Detour." Prowl smirked, an ugly expression for his usually handsome face. "I'm using Detour. With him, it _is_ a game."

The bluntness and finality of that revelation hung between them, the very air seeming to constrict and tense.

Jazz pondered the implications and could only arrive at one conclusion. Still, it seemed unlikely for someone like Prowl. "Yer flirtin' with Detour to . . . do what, exactly? Get intel?" He smirked, disbelieving his own assumption.

"Of course." Prowl swished one hand through the air, almost flippant. "He's doing the same to me."

"Say what?" Jazz thunked into the guest chair, stunned. It sounded exactly like something he would do. It sounded exactly like something he _had_ done countless times.

Prowl dropped his hand, utterly serious again. "I know two wrongs don't make a right, but in this case, I don't care. They came here to experiment on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and I'm going to stop them. Even if it means flirting with someone I hate in order to get the proof I need."

For long moments, Jazz was utterly silent, his suspicious professional self warring with his aching personal self. He had never seen Prowl this obsessed, this determined, this ruthless. Every single warning light, red scrolling message, and processor alarm he possessed seemed to all metaphorically fire off at once. _Danger._ Prowl, the twins, maybe the whole base. They were all in danger. "What the frag is goin' on?" he asked, his internal officer winning.

Prowl seemed to sense the change. He turned to his computer terminal and pulled up a screen. "The ex-PSF agents have been accessing multiple files: our twins' medical records, files on twins in general, files on sparks, and now files on spark experiments. Most of the access has been illegal — they're hacking. But I put a Logger on Teletraan and the medical database, so I've caught them anyway." He snapped a dour look at Jazz. "They're assessing our twins' conditions and checking to see if there has been any research conducted by others over the millennia that could aid their research. If there is, then they'll add it to their own data." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. "They're laying the groundwork to begin the experiment."

Frozen in his chair, Jazz gaped at him. The truth seemed to press upon him like a trash compactor, crushing him. Prowl had gone through this much trouble and effort already? Prowl would never do such a thing if he wasn't certain, though, and what was more, he'd gotten some evidence. He met Prowl's gaze, seeing the fear and pain there, and he found himself caught between his own sense of betrayal and hurt and the worry shining in Prowl's optics. For a moment, he could do nothing.

However, it was Prowl's evident desperation and worry that broke through Jazz's inaction. Jerking out of his stupor, Jazz stood and planted one hand on the desk, vaulting over it to stare at the computer screen. A series of minor hacks and otherwise innocuous legal accesses met his optics. Normally it would only be enough to earn a mech a wrist slap, but through the lens Prowl offered, it was ominous. "Did ya tell Prime?" He had to bat aside his own irritation with Prowl to pursue the topic, but it was evident that something larger than his own personal feelings was at work here.

"Yes. But it's not enough to arrest anyone." Prowl met Jazz's gaze. "We are no doubt running out of time. If I know the PSF, and I do, then they're planning to abduct our twins somehow. I need hard evidence. Right _now._"

The thought of the twins being abducted was chilling, but Jazz knew Prowl. "Ya have a plan."

Prowl frowned. "I have gotten Detour to invite me up to Flattop for the evening tomorrow night. I'm going to find a way to hack their mainframe while I'm there, although I'm still figuring out the details of how. "

Jazz knew from experience that would be tricky, and he was disturbed by the thought of Prowl being alone with Detour for any reason. "What are ya lookin' for? Files showin' they've started up their experiment again?"

"Precisely. Among others." Prowl stood, turning to grasp Jazz's shoulders. "This is important, Jazz. I have to get this evidence."

Only one nagging question remained. "How do ya know all this? Why are ya so certain?"

Prowl squeezed his shoulders and released them. He stared at Jazz's Autobot symbol for a klik, a frown on his face, then met his gaze again, seeming to arrive at a decision. "I used to be an officer in the PSF."

All the air seemed to swoosh out of Jazz's vents. He jerked backwards, inhaling sharply. "_What?_"

"I know, Jazz, because I was _there._" Prowl clenched his fists. "I can prove it! Sort of." He sighed suddenly. "I'm going to download my old service record. It's not under my current designation, of course, because I was put in the Witness Protection program. That's why these PSF agents don't recognize me. But the record is still _mine._ For that, both you and Prime will just have to have faith. And I trust that will you have faith once I can show you files on the spark experiment. Both the old ones and the new ones."

Jazz thought his processor would melt from the continuous shocks and revelations. However, the pieces were flying together, making a picture he could see and understand. A dangerous picture. Part of him wanted to strangle Prowl for not telling him all this sooner. Didn't Prowl trust him? "And ya waited until _now_ to tell me this?"

Prowl glanced away, staring at the painting on his wall. "There are more layers to this than I can even begin to explain."

"But we're talkin' serious danger here." Jazz growled faintly, irritated with Prowl's clear secretiveness.

Prowl looked back at him. "Very serious." Desperation leaked into his voice.

That commitment to helping the twins, that clear worry, broke through Jazz's anger, reminding him of one reason he loved Prowl so much: his understated but deep care for those under his command. Jazz paused, pondering all he knew about the mech he loved and all he'd told him, and then he reached his conclusion. "Fine. If all ya say is true, then it's clear what I've got to do. I'll help ya."

Jerking back his shoulders, Prowl tensed with surprise. "What?"

"I'll help ya. If ya keep Detour distracted, I'll go hack their mainframe." Jazz frowned, remembering the various ways he'd kept his targets 'distracted' over the millennia. "Just do me a favor. Don't 'face him." It disgusted him enough to think Prowl might have to kiss Detour. As though his spark wasn't hurting enough already over Optimus without that thought added in.

Prowl visibly shuddered, his doorwings vibrating faintly. "No, I definitely don't wish to do that." He picked up a datapad and typed in a few quick notes. "These are the files you'll need. You're looking for the ancient service records for Power Run, Night Stalker, and Maverick. Check under X5, I12, and S12 if you have trouble finding their designations."

Accepting the datapad from him, Jazz frowned at it. "Three service records?"

"Autobot infiltrator plus two twins in the study."

_Infiltrator?_ Jazz thought, surprised once again.

Prowl pointed at the datapad's little screen. "You're also looking for all the files on Project Bond. That was its name ten millennia ago, anyway. If you find current files under the same name, all the better. If they're calling it something different now, I'm not sure what to tell you to search for, but needless to say, we need proof of current activity."

"Hey, man, this is my specialty. I'll figure it out once I'm in there if I need to." Jazz glanced over the notes on likely firewall types, encryption methods, and information filing systems. "I better go study this and work up my mission plan."

"Certainly." Prowl brought up the final screen. "Plant this virus while you're in there. I'm not taking any chances."

"No problem." Jazz considered viruses standard procedure.

Prowl canted his head to the side. "How are you going to get aboard?"

"How else?" That was the easy part. "I'll be hidden on that shuttle of theirs long before Detour and ya get there. Once you've disembarked, I'll sneak out and do my thing. I'll also be settin' up a signal with 'Bee. I'm not gonna tell him what we're up to, of course, but I'll leave instructions with him to comm. ya on my signal and give ya some fake, urgent need for yer return. That way as soon as I'm finished, we can depart." He definitely didn't want Prowl lingering in Detour's quarters, where a seduction could easily take place. "Also, if I have trouble, I can send the signal and retreat to the shuttle, and you'll have a solid reason to need to suddenly depart."

Prowl nodded. "Sounds good. We're leaving at 1900 joors tomorrow. And thank you."

"Yeah. Ya owe me one." Jazz turned and headed to the door, only to pause. "Oh, and Prowl?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Choose me, not Prime." He whisked away, not wanting to see Prowl's reaction.

oOoOo

During the original Project Bond, Road Hugger had found his role in the research minimized by the greedy, grasping hands of his superiors. Of course, when the CAF had descended upon the PSF and made their arrests, Road Hugger's sideline participation had saved his being indicted, prosecuted, and executed. Therefore, it was with irony that millennia later he now found himself co-leading the new Project Bond with Whisper. And, since Whisper was currently helping repair Wheeljack, Road Hugger had Cybertron's last set of twins all to himself.

"You certainly do get injured often, don't you?" the spindly, blue engineer asked as he approached the twins' berths. Behind him was the chaos generated by the Autobots' latest run-in with the Decepticons. With the Autobots' having tried to control Devastator and been attacked by him several times, the medbay had erupted in casualties ranging from the minor, like a dislocated shoulder, to the serious, like a burnt, crushed leg. The twins had taken minor damage. Sunstreaker had injured his forearm protecting himself from falling rocks, and Sideswipe's shoulder plating had been dented doing the same.

"Yeah," Sideswipe said, grinning. "We like to get into the middle of the action, ya know?"

Sunstreaker snorted. "We're fraggin' _frontliners._ You don't do our job and not get slagged at times."

"Well, I'll fix you right up!" Road Hugger pretended to be cheerful, but in truth he was contemplating just how much of a fool Megatron was. Trying to drill to a planet's core? _Please._ Failing to kill the squad of Autobots trying to stop him? Even more pathetic. Shockwave would make a superior ruler — had made a superior ruler while Megatron had been deactivated.

Of course, the irony of having the Constructicons as temporary Autobots running around the _Ark_ had struck Road Hugger as wildly amusing. He and his fellow PSF agents were Decepticons pretending to be Autobots briefly befriending Decepticons turned briefly into Autobots. He'd been hard pressed not to laugh.

"Start with Sunny," Sideswipe said, jerking his thumb in his brother's direction.

Sunstreaker glanced at him, and they held each other's stares momentarily in that creepy way that twins had. Road Hugger repressed a shudder. It was the one thing that he liked least about the original Project Bond: seeing that deep, unspoken connection twins so obviously shared. They _knew_ things without even talking over their bonds. They seemed to share ideas, share thoughts, and sometimes shared sentences. Literally like one mech sliced in half, which in a sense they were. Road Hugger found it downright spooky.

"Fine," Sunstreaker suddenly said, turned to glare at Road Hugger. "Get to it."

_Oh, I'll get to it all right._ Road Hugger hid a smirk. "Certainly." He hooked up his diagnostic scanner to Sunstreaker's neck port, running a quick assessment to check for possible hidden damage. At the same time, he downloaded a small program, an undetectable worm that would collect all the data Road Hugger needed to assess their subjects' viability and acquire the necessary specs to begin the experiment. The worm was designed to transmit itself to Road Hugger on the back of a carrier wave the next time Sunstreaker used his comm. link. "You have no internal damage," he announced, detaching the scanner. "Let's get those dents out of your arm."

Sunstreaker didn't respond except to complain once or twice about the damage to his paint job, and Road Hugger worked as quickly as he could so he could move on to the other twin. He needed to get the worm in them before any more delays could occur. Road Hugger already had the means to easily abduct them, but Whisper and he needed to get the experiment itself started immediately. Shockwave was getting impatient.

Once he finished with Sunstreaker, Road Hugger realized he wouldn't leave without Sideswipe. _Typical,_ he thought, exasperated. Not that it would stop his plans. He hooked up his scanner to Sideswipe as well, running the diagnostic and downloading the worm simultaneously. The way he'd written the program, even if the twins' systems managed to detect it, it would be classified as medical and not harmful. "You also don't have any internal damage. I just need to take out your dents."

"'kay." Sideswipe turned his attention to his brother, clearly having a conversation with him over their bond.

Road Hugger had to repress another shudder. Creepy little creatures. He worked quickly once again, wanting to move on to the second part of his plan: putting in place the method of abducting them. "There you go," he said as he finished and stepped back.

"Thanks." Sideswipe sat up, looking in the direction of Prowl, who was currently in stasis while Ratchet repaired his bent, burned doorwing. He frowned, clearly disturbed.

Road Hugger wondered about the young mech's reaction, having not detected a friendship between Sideswipe and Prowl, but he dismissed the thought. "While you're here, there's something I need to give you," he said as they climbed off their berths.

"Oh?" Sunstreaker was the picture of boredom.

Road Hugger pasted a friendly smile on his face. "Yes. Wheeljack and I have upgraded your jetpacks in order to maximize your Jet Judo." This much was true. What Wheeljack didn't know was that Road Hugger had returned later and added an additional function: a neural neutralizer. Once the twins put on the jetpacks, Road Hugger could hit the switch on his remote controller and give them a zap powerful enough to knock them into stasis. During the next battle, while everyone was caught up in the general chaos, they could grab the offline twins and escape.

Sideswipe perked up. "Really? Awesome!"

"Stay right here and I'll go get them for you." Road Hugger pointed in the general direction of the engineering lab.

"Fine, but hurry up," Sunstreaker snapped.

Road Hugger rushed from the room, a picture of helpfulness, then charged into the engineering lab to grab the jetpacks. While he was alone, he opened his comm. link. ::Road Hugger to Nightflight.::

A pause, then Nightflight answered him from his post on Flattop. ::Nightflight here. What do you want?::

Road Hugger scowled, irritated. ::Contact Shockwave and tell him that we'll soon have the specs necessary for the experiment and that the first step in the plan to abduct the twins is commencing.::

::It's about fraggin' time. Nightflight out.:: The line went dead.

"Slagger," Road Hugger hissed. Still, having Nightflight send the message from Flattop — who, unlike their report to the Autobots claimed, did have a perfectly good long-range comm. system — was the safest bet. Such messages did not need to be sent from inside the _Ark,_which was the whole reason they left Flattop in orbit.

"One step closer," Road Hugger muttered to himself, heading back to the medbay with the jetpacks.

oOoOo

_Slipping into his quarters, Maverick pressed his hand to his chest, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He could feel it — the little power surges and faint thumping sensation as his sparklings got excited. The accidental sparkling had split into twins at the end of the first decaorn, just as M1 had said it would. With split-spark twins as genitors, the chances of Night Stalker and he having twins were 99.99 percent._

_Surprisingly, M1 hadn't been disgusted or scandalized. "Oh," he had said, tone nearly dismissive. "I'm not surprised. If I've learned anything in the course of this experiment, it's that twins have a need to periodically realign their sparks. I admit all you twins hid it from us well, I assume because you fear others would think it was incest. But I can say that it seems to be a universal necessity with twins, although I'm still working on understanding the physics of that. Accidental sparklings would have to sometimes result, and you don't even have a Spark Merging Energy Regulator to stop that kind of thing in the first place."_

_Maverick had been relieved to hear the former and irritated over the latter. Night Stalker and he didn't have SMERs to regulate energy during spark merging because they were technically still minors and weren't supposed to be sharing sparks. But if M1 knew they had to spark merge and knew unintentional overloads were possible, why hadn't they been fixed with SMERs anyway? Maverick frowned. After much thought, he'd decided only one answer made sense: M1 had hoped — no he'd _known_ — this would happen. Maverick didn't even want to consider why M1 wanted such a thing to occur, but the worse possibility was that if the experiment had changed their sparks in any way, then their sparklings might inherit the abnormality. M1 would no doubt love that._

_Maverick growled. No way in the fragging Pit was he going to let his sparklings become research subjects. It was frustrating and scary enough that C1 and M1 had teamed up and bullied his brother and him into staying in the study. In short, they were ordered to stay in it. Their right to 'withdraw at any time' had been clearly revoked. But having their sparklings in the study? Slag, no. As soon as Engineering finished building the sparklings' protoforms, Maverick and Night Stalker were going to grab them and make a run for it. It was an insane idea, but Maverick loved challenges. Besides, from his point of view it was their only option._

_A flash of irritation shot over the bond from Night Stalker, and a few kliks later his brother came hurdling through their door with their best friend, Power Run, in tow. He was griping the white and yellow mech by the elbow. "We need to talk," Night Stalker said, frowning. "You're not going to believe this."_

_Curiosity provoked, Maverick glanced at Power Run, noticing that Power Run seemed jumpy and tense. His doorwings were arched high on his back, the way Night Stalker's did when he was deeply afraid or stressed. He was one of their electronics tech masterminds — rank X5 to be more precise. He was usually cool under pressure, so why was he jumpy now?_

_"What's up?" Maverick asked, propping himself against the wall._

_To his utter shock, Night Stalker pulled out a bugging device detector and began scanning the room. "Primus, there was almost this huge fight down in the rec room," he said as he moved around the room. He was clearly in acting mode._

_"Really? What over?" Maverick asked, playing along. Clearly, something huge was at stake._

_Night Stalker paused by their desk, then nodded at it. "Oh, X10 was riding O12's aft again about the failed mission in Iacon. Said he should have never been outwitted by posers." Effortlessly, he prattled on for several kliks about this supposed argument. Finally, he subspaced the detector and pulled out a masking device. He set it on the desk with an air of finality and hit the on switch._

_"It must be bad," Maverick said, spark sinking._

_Night Stalker whirled on Power Run without replying. "You're pretty good," he said, smirking. "Did the CAF recruit you from within, or did they send you in? You've been here for a stellar cycle now, after all."_

_Power Run sighed, a pained expression on his face. His doorwings were straining up off his back. "They recruited me before I joined the PSF."_

_"What?" Maverick stepped forward, alarmed. "What are you saying, bro? That Power Run is an undercover agent?"_

_Night Stalker nodded. "From the CAF."_

_Maverick frowned. Inter-division infiltration wasn't unheard of. The PSF had agents undercover in CAF bases in Iacon, Polyhex, Vos, and Tyger Pax. He glared at Power Run with suspicion and anger. "You fragging traitor! I thought you were our friend!" He threw open his bond with his brother. _::Why didn't you turn him in?::

::Because I'm not sure we're on the right side here.::_ "Ironic, isn't it?" Night Stalker drawled, walking in a circle around the fidgeting Power Run and pretending that he wasn't having a second conversation over the bond. "The infiltrator is infiltrated."_

_"It's that slagging experiment," Power Run hissed. "The one you guys are in? The one you hate so much? Yeah, that one."_

_That brought Maverick up short. "What about it?" He unconsciously placed his hand on his chest over his sparklings._

_"All the twins in the study have gone 'missing' or been killed in convenient 'accidents' except the two sets in the PSF itself." Power Run held out his hands in a plea. "The CAF began to suspect foul play. They sent me in to determine what was really happening here. Your sickness? It's because they're using radiation on you. It's not a 'heat stimulus test.' It's fragging radiation mixed with those chemicals they were using on you. It's poison. They're trying to alter your spark in order to achieve their goals, they're — "_

_"Silence!" Night Stalker snapped, stepping into his face. "One piece at a time. Go slowly so I can decide what I want to do with you, traitor."_

_Maverick wasn't sure how to feel. He'd already decided that the PSF had lost sight of its original purpose and true character. This was _not_ the PSF Torino had told them stories about when they were sparklings. However, if Power Run was telling the truth, then the corruption was even worse than he and Night Stalker had guessed. But that was Night Stalker's gift. He was good at detecting lies; his intuition concerning others was almost creepy in its accuracy. Maverick watched as Night Stalker stayed in Power Run's personal space, pressuring him without words._

_"You're in danger," Power Run said quietly. "M1 didn't disclose the true nature of these trials to you, and they're so determined to succeed in altering the way bonds work that they no longer care how much they hurt you."_

_Night Stalker didn't back down. "Why would you care?"_

_"Other than it's wrong?" Power Run seemed insulted. "I wasn't pretending to be your friend. You guys are honest, good mechs. Not like the ones abusing you." He inhaled noisily through his vents. "And this is serious. I've confirmed the deaths of three sets of twins. They've covered it up by staging accidents."_

_"The experiment killed them?" Maverick asked, wanting clarification._

_Power Run nodded. "Oh, yeah. There's no doubt. Four more sets of twins are so ill they can't get off their berths. M1 has only given them a decaorn to live. They're being hidden in the basement of Engineering."_

_Maverick and Night Stalker traded a glance. With their skills, that was easily verifiable._

_"You're in mortal danger, and the CAF can help you." Power Run held out his hands once again. "They're planning a raid. Please, I can arrange to have you transported back to Iacon to — "_

_"Enough," Night Stalker interrupted. He glared at Power Run for several kliks, their gazes locked, then Night Stalker sighed, letting his doorwings slump. _::He's telling the truth,::_ he whispered over the bond._

::You're 100 percent sure of that, right?::_ Maverick already knew the answer, but the stakes were too high for him not to ask anyway._

_Night Stalker glanced at him. _::Yeah, but that doesn't mean I trust the CAF. The Autobots spout the same idealism as the PSF. How do I know they aren't lying, too? We're better off taking care of ourselves, and that raid will be a perfect cover for our escape.::

::I agree.::_ Maverick stared at Power Run. Maybe he was actually their friend after all. _Maybe._ He still wasn't entirely convinced. He wanted to verify the information about the other twins first._

_"And your verdict is?" Power Run asked, no doubt assuming they were talking over their bond._

_"We won't turn you in." Night Stalker sighed again. "But we don't want the CAF's help."_

_Power Run frowned. "I guess I understand that, but I hope you'll reconsider. If you change your mind, just walk up to me and say 'yes' in old Praxian."_

_Night Stalker nodded, and Maverick watched the exchange with a weird sense of displacement. Night Stalker had always been the diplomatic one, the shy one, the one Maverick felt driven to protect. Now that Maverick was carrying their sparklings, Night Stalker had seamlessly stepped into the role of protector and champion. Maverick had absolutely no doubt that Night Stalker would not hesitate to utilize either his weapons or his skill in circuit su to kill anyone who endangered their sparklings or him._

_And Maverick had no illusions that death was exactly what it would come to.  
_

oOoOo

When Jazz slipped out of the _Ark_, the sun was setting over the desert, casting a crimson glow over the sand. A warm breeze whipped over his plating, caressing him, and for a scant moment, he wished he were going for an evening drive instead of a mission. However, if all Prowl said were true, retrieving the files from Flattop was top priority. Still, that didn't improve his mood any, especially when he considered that Prowl had been off kissing or dating both Optimus and Detour.

Knowing where the _Ark's_ security cameras were, Jazz slipped behind the nearest boulders, circling behind them until he could approach the shuttle from the rear. Hacking the door lock was simple, and a quick check of the interior revealed a small smuggling compartment underneath one deck plate.

"Interesting," he muttered, pulling up the plate and dropping down into the space. He pulled the top closed and glanced around the little area using his infrared vision. To his displeasure, the compartment was just large enough to stow two mechs. _If all else failed, they could hide the twins in here,_ he thought, frowning. It was disturbing to realize that Prowl's concerns might have significant merit.

A breem later, the hiss of the door opening told Jazz that Detour and Prowl had arrived. Jazz wished briefly that Mirage weren't on a mission to Cybertron, knowing his holo-disrupter would enable the mission to go more smoothly, but then again, Jazz's hacking skills were more honed. Also, Jazz didn't want to drag Mirage into the mess considering he was acting mostly on faith.

"Go ahead and have a seat in the co-pilot's chair," Detour said, sounding like a gracious host. His footsteps passed over Jazz's head. "You won't need to do anything for such a short flight, though."

"Thank you." Prowl's voice was its usual soft, even keel. Jazz hadn't stopped to ask Prowl for verification, but he assumed Prowl had been the Autobot infiltrator, Power Run. It jarred Jazz to realize that Prowl's original skill set was special ops and his stoic mask was likely an outcropping of his acting skills. It also answered Jazz's long-unasked question of why Prowl and he didn't disagree more often on tactics and strategies. Prowl understood exactly where Jazz was coming from.

Jazz suffered through the sounds of Detour's overly-bubbly flirting — _"Oh, really? Me, too!" "No, you don't say!" "Well, I can take your mind off of that."_ — all the way to Flattop and violently suppressed the urge to purge his tanks. He decided Prowl's stoicism in the face of that onslaught verified his topnotch acting skills. He wasn't sure even he could have withstood such sugary fakeness without one or two high-grades to help. However, listening to the flirting also increased Jazz's fear that, in the name of holding up the guise of normal dating, something intimate might happen between Prowl and Detour during the mission. _If Prowl frags that slagger I'm gonna kill them both,_ Jazz thought, irritated.

Once they were docked and Prowl and Detour had disembarked, Jazz waited a half breem before making his move. While he waited, he peered out of the various ship windows, locating the security cameras and tracking their movement. After he felt satisfied he had their timing down, he slipped out of the ship and hid behind the crate nearest the door. He repeated the process of scoping out the hallway's security cameras, timing his moves to always be in their blind spots.

_Security's not very rigorous,_ he thought, pleased. It was the only thing about this mission that didn't increase his foul mood. _Flattop must not be used too often on these kinds of missions, which only makes sense if they came from a fully-equipped base._

The ship's interior wasn't overly large, which made finding the control room easy. Only one mech was on duty, a purple and black mech who stared at his terminal with a look of near-stupefaction. He didn't seem too bright, if appearances could be trusted, but Jazz used all his considerable skill to silently slip behind the computer bank at the back of the room. As long as he stayed down, neither the mech nor the security camera would see him.

Extracting his supplies from subspace, Jazz pulled out his tools. Carefully, he released the screws on the terminal's rear and set aside the metal cover. After examining the internals, he chose a small connector cord and attached one end to the terminal and another to the tiny computer he carried just for the purposes of hacking. Spending millennia fighting Soundwave and his encryptions, codes, and firewalls had left Jazz with considerable skill, and he set to work bypassing the network's security.

Once he was in, Jazz immediately searched for Project Bond, and after a breem, he discovered an ancient file of enormous proportions. He began downloading it and out of curiosity tried to open it for a preview. What popped up on his screen, however, was encrypted using a style he'd never seen before.

_Primus,_ he thought, stunned at the complexity of it. _That'll take some effort to crack._ It wasn't anything similar to either Autobot or Decepticon encryption styles. _Fraggin' PSF._ It fried his processor to think Prowl had ever been in the PSF. _Was Prowl ever arrogant like the rest of them? If I'd met him back then, would he have looked down on me and called me a poser?_ It was a disturbing thought, but not as upsetting as the thought that followed it. _Primus, Detour and Prowl had better not be fraggin' each other right now. He promised. Promised! He better hold to it._ He held in a sigh, troubled. His spark still stung enough over Prowl's clear interest in Optimus without Detour as added competition of a sort.

Setting aside that issue, Jazz forced himself to his task and began searching for the service records of Power Run, Night Stalker, and Maverick. Just as Prowl had predicted, he discovered them among the ancient files with the tags X5, I12, and S12. Still incredibly curious, he tried to open Power Run's file, but it also was encrypted. _Paranoid,_ Jazz thought, although he was hardly surprised. After all, he _was_ there to steal the information.

As Jazz began the second download, a deep voice boomed through the room: "Storm Cloud, something doesn't feel quite right."

The sound of faint scrambling, almost as though someone had nearly fallen from his chair, echoed through the room. "Huh?"

Jazz suspected the mech on duty, apparently named Storm Cloud, had fallen into recharge at his post. Still, Storm Cloud was awake now, and by the sounds of it, Jazz was in danger. The booming voice likely belonged to Flattop himself. Jazz stared at his little screen, where a little glyph pulsed as it showed the progress of the download. _Hurry up!_ He desperately began searching the more recent files, looking for something with a name similar to Project Bond or somehow indicative of the experiment.

The booming voice sounded again. "Don't recharge while on duty! Besides, if Nightflight catches you, you'll be piecing yourself back together again."

"Primus, sorry!" came an irritated reply. "Now what were you saying?"

_Slaggit!_ Jazz grimaced, scanning the file names as quickly as he could. Nothing was standing out. Half the files in there were named 'Project So-and-So,' but none were blatantly 'New Project Bond' or the like.

"I said something feels off," Flattop replied. "I can't quite trace it, though."

"Off how?" Storm Cloud asked.

The download glyph flashed once then vanished, indicating it was finished. Silently cursing, Jazz knew he couldn't press his luck. Flattop could sense the intrusion somehow. Quickly, he uploaded the latent virus Prowl had given him.

"Didn't you hear the part where I said I can't trace it?" Flattop snapped. "Just humor me and look through all the security screens. See if everything seems normal. I'll try to narrow down the sensation in the meantime."

Jazz quietly disconnected from the terminal, replaced the metal cover, and subspaced his equipment without even storing it properly. He waited until Storm Cloud said the hallways were clear before slipping from the room, carefully making his way back to the shuttle. He sent the rescue signal to Bumblebee as he went.

Unfortunately, his mission had not been 100 percent successful.

oOoOo

Some orns, Prowl wondered if he were either too smart for his own good or secretly quite stupid. At the moment, he was leaning toward secretly stupid, given that he'd spent the last joor failing miserably to get Detour to talk about Base Ceti's research and having to reroute all Detour's attempts to get him to discuss the _Ark_. It had been a useless verbal tug-of-war in which neither of them had made progress.

And that had led to kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

Space on Flattop was at a premium, so Detour's cramped cabin had little to offer except a triple bunk-berth, a small desk and chair, and one lounging chair crammed in the corner. This had meant sharing the chair, which had expedited the kissing solution but landed Prowl in heavier and heavier make-out territory. Now Prowl considered the mech he had sprawled over his lap and decided the only way he was going to survive this night was to pretend he were kissing and touching Jazz. Or, conversely, he could pretend he was sprawled over Prime's lap, the one being touched instead. Lowering his lips to Detour's exposed neck, he offlined his optics, removing the reminder of who was really there. He slowly kissed and nipped his way down Detour's throat, letting one hand wander as he did. He stroked over one headlight, tracing it slowly, drawing a moan of approval in the process. Primus, he was going to need a ton of cleaning solution later that night, and once again he considered literally using it on the inside of his mouth. Prowl paused, his disgust outweighing his attempt at an overriding fantasy, and Detour took the opportunity to hop to his feet.

"Maybe we should move this into the floor, huh?" Detour leered at him. "The berths don't exactly have room for two." He grabbed Prowl's wrist, pulling him to his feet. "Besides, I can't touch much of you with you sitting under me like that."

Prowl didn't want Detour touching him at all. _Think fast!_ he admonished himself.

Tugging on him again, Detour tried to pull him to the floor. "Come on. Don't tell me you've gotten shy suddenly?" He grinned, but the smile didn't mask his pushiness and boldness.

Prowl's gaze fell on the desk, and he glanced at Detour with what he hoped was a playful smirk. "Why the floor?" He twisted in Detour's grip, whirling them until he was behind Detour, holding him instead. He bent Detour long-ways over the desk and gave him a swat on the aft. "Bad mech," he whispered, leaning over to say it against Detour's audio. "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson."

Detour moaned and struggled against his grip, but Prowl had already pulled a set of magnacuffs from his subspace. He secured Detour's wrists to the desktop, then continued to hold his arms down. With his other hand, he reached down and traced his hand up Detour's thigh. "I think some punishment is in order, don't you?" He pitched his voice to its most sultry, and Detour parted his legs for him, granting him more access. "Good mech."

Pressing his cheek against Detour's right doorwing, Prowl settled against his side and dipped his fingers into Detour's hip seam, stroking the wires there. A whimper met his ministrations, so Prowl licked the doorwing he rested against and offlined his optics. Since he had zero interest in Detour and zero motivation to bring him pleasure, Prowl imagined it was Jazz instead, Jazz's body he was pressed against, Jazz's wires he was teasing. Struck by the mental image, Prowl secured his mouth on Detour's doorwing and sucked the edge as he slowly removed his fingers and caressed them across Detour's plating to his other hip. He rubbed over Detour's critical energy port panel in the process, the metal hot under his fingertips. A long, loud moan graced his audios, and he pretended it were Jazz's. Oh, how he wanted to do this for Jazz, play his love out over Jazz's body, show him how he really felt.

Lost in the notion, Prowl switched the movie in his head, turning it into himself and Prime instead. He imagined he was bent over his own desk, Optimus sucking and licking on his doorwing. He imagined Prime's fingers slipping into his hip seam, teasing the wires as he spread his thighs further apart. Prowl moaned at the thought, the vibration shooting through the doorwing he was mouthing and drawing a whimper from Detour. A soft _click_ told Prowl that Detour's panel was releasing, and he hesitated, wishing Jazz would hurry up. He didn't want to interface with Detour; touching him even this intimately was far more than he had planned to do or was comfortable with. Besides, he'd promised Jazz that he wouldn't 'face Detour.

"Don't stop," Detour gasped, straining against his cuffs and trying to press himself back onto Prowl's fingers.

With some shock, Prowl realized Detour was honestly enjoying himself, and he had overplayed his hand. Now his only way out of this situation without fully 'facing Detour might be to stimulate his doorwings until he overloaded, which would hopefully knock Detour offline. He had allowed himself too many fantasies, too much emotion, and if he continued and Optimus or Jazz somehow found out . . . No, he could _not_ hurt or betray them that way, whether they ultimately learned of the incident or not. He refused to.

Granted, Prowl had to admit there was little he wouldn't do in the name of saving Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, but choosing between the twins and the mechs he loved was not a decision Prowl wanted to make. He dropped his hand, trying to figure out how to extract himself from the mess he'd created.

::Bumblebee to Prowl.:: The sound of Bumblebee's concerned voice broadcast over Prowl's external comm. link, just as he'd planned it, and interrupted the lusty haze hanging in the air.

_Saved from my own stupidity,_ he thought, answering his comm. link and pulling away from Detour. ::Prowl here.::

Detour groaned in obvious frustration.

::Sorry to interrupt you, sir,:: Bumblebee said, ::but I just received new intel from Cosmos that will impact my mission tomorrow morning. I'm afraid, sir, that I need your help to revise the mission plan, and given that I'm supposed to be leaving with a U.S. military squad at 0400 hours their time, there's not much time to generate the changes.::

Prowl had to give Bumblebee kudos for acting out his part well. ::It's all right, Bumblebee.:: He sighed, sounding vaguely put-out. ::I'll be right there. Prowl out.::

"Slaggit," Detour hissed, clearly irritated. "They never give you a moment's downtime, do they?"

"Why? Why do you get so much downtime?" Prowl stepped around the desk and released the magnacuffs. It took all his effort to sound disappointed and irritated instead of relieved.

Detour straightened and shook his head, frowning. "Well, fine. Good point. I've only gotten downtime since I came here. But Primus slaggit! We'd just now reached the good part, and you have to get called away? We can't catch a fraggin' break here, and I don't know about you, but I was looking for some action."

_That's the only honest thing he's said to me yet,_ Prowl reflected with some irony. "Fate doesn't seem to be on our side."

"Yeah, whatever. Let's go." Detour jerked his thumb at the door.

Intensely thankful to escape, Prowl headed out of the room and back toward the shuttle, hoping Jazz had gotten all the necessary data.

oOoOo

Optimus Prime stood outside Prowl's cabin door, staring at the orangey-gold metal. News of Prowl's date with Detour was all over the base thanks to Bumblebee's call from the command deck, and Optimus hadn't even had the chance to discuss with Prowl the fact he'd kissed Jazz. Not since Megatron's usual scheming had resulted in yet another emergency the orn before.

It had hurt enough before this new piece. Optimus had fallen in love with Prowl, and Prowl had indicated he returned those feelings. The concept that Prowl was seeing both Jazz and Detour behind his back was horrifying. Every single line, node, and circuit in Prime's body burnt at the thought, filling him with both pain and jealousy. What was going on? Wasn't he good enough for Prowl? And why Detour of all mechs? Prowl obviously hated the ex-PSF agents.

Optimus wasn't sure he could even handle this pain. Elita's death had suffocated his spark with black grief, and he didn't need any further trauma. And yet he couldn't ignore his feelings for Prowl: he _wanted_ him, needed him. Prowl's gentle smiles, his quick wit, his deep care, and his intense friendship were all things Optimus had come to value and desire. They shared an ultimate compatibility of beliefs, interests, and mindsets. Gathering all his strength and resolve, Optimus buzzed the door chime.

"Come in," came Prowl's gentle voice, and the door slid open.

Stepping inside, Optimus let the door shut before speaking. Prowl was sitting at his personal desk, hunched over his computer terminal and looking deep in concentration. "Prowl, we need to talk."

Prowl's head snapped up. "Optimus!" He stood abruptly, his doorwings arching in obvious stress.

"I heard about your date with Detour." Optimus wasn't in the mood to mince words. "And you already know I found out about you and Jazz. Let's get straight to the point: what is going on here? Are you leading me on?"

Prowl's optics surged, then dimmed. "That date with Detour was fake. Just as fake as his flirting with me is. We're both trying to leech intel from each other."

Disturbed, Optimus wasn't sure how to respond at first. It eased his pain slightly, but it upset him for an entirely different reason. "Isn't this game you're playing dangerous?" The level of Prowl's obsession struck him as unhealthy. "Assuming, that is, that you're not simply blinded by the past?" He still wasn't sure why Prowl was so consumed with the PSF and their ancient trial.

Planting both hands on his desk, Prowl leaned forward, his arms trembling faintly in clear stress. "I'm not blinded by the past, I assure you. We got part of what we went after. I'm going to have proof for you shortly, I promise. It's encrypted, but as soon as I break the code, I can give you hard evidence."

"We?" Prime's tank churned as he realized a mission had been carried out without his permission.

Prowl's doorwings flattened suddenly. "Jazz and I, sir." His voice grew quiet. "I let Detour take me on a pretend date while Jazz hacked Flattop's mainframe and downloaded the files we need. Or most of them, anyway. He wasn't able to get them all."

Optimus thought his processor would explode. The sheer audacity of it ripped through his spark and incited his temper. It went beyond not asking his permission — it was a violation of his entire sense of honor, respect, and trustworthiness toward other Autobots. "_What?_" He stormed over to Prowl's desk and towered over him. "You went on an _unauthorized_ mission to hack a _friendly's_ computer? What in Primus' name were the two of you thinking?"

"They aren't 'friendlies'!" Prowl's show of temper was stunning in its rarity, and his doorwings hiked up, vibrating with tension. "I know what they are! I used to be in the PSF myself. I _saw_ that experiment. I was _in_ that experiment." He gasped air through his vents, jabbing his finger against his own chest. "I'm one of their fragging _victims_!"

Jerking backwards, Optimus stared at Prowl, nearly speechless in the face of his open passion, anger, and desperation. "Prowl . . .?"

Prowl held out both his hands to Optimus. "Please, sir. Please understand." His tone was utterly pleading, the sudden fear rolling off him in waves. "I know what they're going to do to our twins because it was done to me first. It will _kill_ them! Jazz downloaded my old service record, and I can show it to you as soon as I decrypt it. It doesn't have my current designation on it, of course, because I was put in Witness Protection. But it's mine. And I have the files on the old experiment. Again, I can show them to you as soon as I decrypt them."

For a solid klik, Optimus couldn't even think. The shock was overwhelming, burning through his processor and banishing his anger. Worry took its place. He stood silently, processing the information, and suddenly two utterly opposite possibilities opened up to him. One, Prowl was right and the twins were in danger. Two, Prowl was so blinded by his past traumatic experience that he couldn't possibly see anything but danger and evil. He asked the only logical question he could conjure. "Did you find records of a current experiment?"

Prowl's doorwings slumped again, his optics dimming. "No, sir." He stared down at his desktop, his fists clenching.

"You know how this looks, right?" Optimus realized that Prowl's actions might be the result of a severe emotional compromise. If that were so, then anger would do no good. His best option in such a case might be to confine Prowl to his quarters, block his Teletraan access, and send Ratchet and Smokescreen to assess his condition. That settled the worry deep in his spark. He was concerned for Prowl's mental health and even for the visiting mechs' safety if Prowl's obsession flew out of control.

Meeting his gaze, Prowl's optics surged suddenly. "Yes, I know, sir. But I also know how it looks that these ex-PSF mechs have accessed the twins' medical records and run searches on twins, sparks, and spark experiments. Some of them via unauthorized access."

Struck by the truth of that statement, Optimus could not ignore the possibility. "I see." He decided caution was warranted, which meant defensive action must be taken. "I will put Ratchet, Perceptor, and Wheeljack on alert for suspicious activity in Science and Medical and order them to see to any of the twins' injuries personally. I will also order Red Alert to have Security watch for suspicious activity. I will order the twins to stay clear of our visitors, but I will not explain why. You make sure that none of the ex-PSF mechs is on duty alone in any area and continue to schedule the twins away from them. However, before I can make any arrests, I need that hard evidence. Finish decrypting these files you downloaded and bring them to me. Also, keep in mind that I can't overlook the fact you don't have _conclusive_ evidence of a current experiment. As it stands, you could still be wrong."

"Yes, sir." Prowl straightened, a faint frown tugging at his lips.

Sighing, Optimus shook his head. "I will not pursue disciplinary action against Jazz and you this time." He realized his next words would be punishment in themselves. "However, you've damaged my faith in you by doing this behind my back."

Prowl flinched and dropped his gaze to his desk. "Yes, sir."

Unfortunately for both of them, Optimus wasn't finished yet. "Despite all this, I had a different reason for coming to see you."

Stiffening again, Prowl met his gaze, his doorwings tensing once more. "Jazz."

"Why did you kiss him? Your date with Detour may have been fake, but I'm guessing your feelings for Jazz are not." Optimus crossed his arms.

Prowl sighed and hugged his arms over his abdomen. "I'll tell you exactly what I told Jazz. This is not some kind of game for me, and I'm not trying to lead either of you on. Frankly, I shouldn't have kissed either one of you. I can't start a relationship with either one of you due to complications beyond my control, and therefore I apologize. I will not kiss either of you ever again. I will cease my flirtation immediately."

Frowning behind his battle mask, Optimus realized that he didn't really have the answer to his question, and more than that, the answer he did get was one he didn't like. He didn't want to give up on Prowl. He didn't want Prowl to give up on him, either. "Complications beyond your control?" he asked. "Prowl, what is it? What's going on? Why _did_ you kiss Jazz?"

Prowl dropped into his chair and leaned his helm back against the headrest. "Where do I begin? How can I explain? Like I told Jazz, I'm not even sure you'd believe me." Prowl's voice wasn't much more than a whisper. "You'd think I was out of my processor for sure, and you'd definitely want proof." He offlined his optics. "But I'm working on the proof now. I promise that I will make this make sense for you."

Although he found his confusion multiplying, Optimus walked around Prowl's desk and knelt by his chair. "Prowl, look at me."

Prowl onlined his optics again and turned his chair so he was facing Optimus. He looked ready to fall over from pure exhaustion, his optics dim and his posture slumped.

"I have to state my intentions clearly." Optimus wasn't going to hide his feelings any longer. "I love you, and I want you to be with _me_."

Leaning forward, Prowl rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. "I wish I could say it's that easy, but it's not."

Optimus focused on the top of Prowl's while helm and the points of the crimson chevron. "Why not?" Some of his hurt slipped out. "Don't you _care_ about me? Do you love me at all?"

"Of course I love you!" Prowl raised his head, his optics shining with desperation again.

"Oh," came a flat voice.

Optimus turned toward the doorway, not having even heard the door open. When he saw Jazz staring back at them, he understood why. He stood, facing his competition. "Jazz."

"Optimus." Jazz frowned at him.

"Oh, _Primus!_" Prowl's voice broke up with static, sounding almost as though his spark had been ripped apart. He pushed to his feet, staring at Jazz with obvious fear and worry.

Jazz stepped into the room, letting the door close behind him, and glared at Prowl. "So ya love him, but ya don't love me?"

Prowl crossed his arms over his abdomen again, as though his tanks might explode. "I'm in love with both of you!"

Silence, thick and roiling, permeated the air. For a moment, no one moved or spoke.

Optimus felt utterly ill. He was jealous, upset, confused, and stung all at once, and a small part of him even felt glad that Prowl did love him after all. Suddenly, it was too much to bear, and his emotions fell flat, as though his cerebral cortex could no longer process them.

"Well," Jazz said, tone icy, "ya can't have us both. Yer gonna have to choose." He whirled around and stormed out.

"Jazz . . ." Prowl stared after him.

Optimus turned to Prowl as well. "He's right. You will have to choose, and I hope you find it in your spark to choose me." He squared his shoulders and followed Jazz's path out the door.

"Prime . . ." Prowl called.

But Optimus didn't look back.

* * *

_Postscript: I hate to say this, guys, but given the length of these chapters, I'm not sure I (or my beta readers) can maintain a weekly update. If two weeks pass sometimes, don't panic. I'll still be working hard to finish the next chapter._

_For those who might find it useful, there's a list of the slang terms and visiting mechs below._

_**PSF**__ — Praxus Special Forces  
__**Sokii**__ — PSF slang for "officer"  
__**Pixie**__— PSF slang for civilian Praxians  
__**CAF**__ — Cybertron Armed Forces (a.k.a., Autobots, pre-civil war)  
__**Pixer**__— PSF slang for a Praxian in the CAF instead of the PSF  
__**Poser**__ — PSF slang for a CAF special ops agent_

_**Ex-PSF agents on Earth**__ —  
Blackjack, commander. Black, boxy like Ironhide.  
Detour, his SIC. Yellow with doorwings.  
Hyperdrive, warrior. Cyan, boxy like Ironhide.  
Tailwind, scientist (chemist). Tall, spindly, navy blue. Imagine a really thin Perceptor, minus the scope.  
Road Hugger, engineer. Tall, spindly, dark blue.  
Whisper, medic. Tall, spindly, black._


	7. To the Late are Left the Bones

_A/N: The idea of feeding lines in the wrists is Asher119's and from "Unintended" and "Unexpected."_

_Thank you to everyone for the reviews! I apologize to my ffdotnet readers for not getting out the PM thank you notes. I had to make a choice: either I sent out PMs or I finished this chapter. I made a command decision and decided to get this chapter out on time. Please forgive me for the lapse and be assured I cherished each review. If I can find time, I'll go back and answer all the reviews after the fact. __A special thanks, since I can't PM you, to Christina, AquamarineRagDoll, won't be the Victim, Ltuae-42, CNNightJoy, and Phoebe Turner for your feedback! _

_Further Note: I experimented with the scene breaks at the end of this chapter, so the scenes hop back and forth. I'll be curious to see if this works._

_

* * *

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_**Chapter 7: Tarde Venientibus Ossa  
**__**or To the Late Are Left the Bones **_

Glyphs poured over his screen — tertiary code. Prowl watched the endless scroll, his battle computer formulating equations as he fought to finish breaking the encryption. He had most of what he needed: the old files on Project Bond and the service records of Power Run, Night Stalker, and Maverick. Proof. Proof of what had been.

What he still lacked was what he needed most: proof of what now was.

Neither Optimus nor Jazz had spoken to him for three orns, and he hadn't sought them out. On duty and off Prowl hadn't left his office except to recharge maybe two or three joors. Had Bluestreak not brought him energon, he'd have forgotten to refuel. Except for a few daily reports he couldn't avoid, he worked nonstop on breaking the encryption. He needed to prove Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were in danger so he could more easily defend them, and he needed to prove who he once was so he could begin explaining himself to Optimus and Jazz. Witness Protection had eradicated all traces of his previous identity, of course, so these old files were all he had.

For a moment, just a moment, Prowl wished Wheeljack's new weapon worked in a sense. Prowl didn't want his spark knocked out of his body, but he did wish he could divide himself in half. He wondered if the device could be altered or . . .

"No," he snapped aloud. It was a terrifying thought. Sick, even. Experiments on sparks were dangerous, unpredictable, and unstable.

Still, he wished there were some easy answer, some way to give both Optimus and Jazz what they wanted. A way to make them both happy, to give his love to them both. His entire spark burned with the pain of having hurt them, and knowing they were upset with him left him with little appetite for energon. He loved them both with all his being, had for vorns, and he wanted to give himself to both of them. The thought of his desires and bad choices having caused them so much agony made him nauseated.

If only he could break this encrypted code, Prowl could at least begin to piece things back together.

A buzz at this door interrupted Prowl's thoughts, and he steeled himself for who might be on the other side. "Enter."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe barged into his office, both looking murderous. Sunstreaker's atomic glare, however, wasn't as loud as Sideswipe's yelling.

"Can I ask a blunt question, sir?" Sideswipe stomped up to Prowl's desk. "Why the frag is Hyderdrive out of the brig? 'Cause I was under the impression you'd tossed his aft in there forever. And you know what? His aft deserves to be in there forever because as soon as he hit the rec room he was all like . . ."

Prowl canted his head to the side, wondering why Sideswipe had stopped mid-tirade. He hadn't realized Hyderdrive had been released, and he didn't like the sound of it. "You were saying?" he asked with some irony, having never known Sideswipe to hold back his opinions.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker shared worried looks and were obviously discussing something over their bond. After a moment, Sideswipe stepped closer and partially leaned over the desk. "Prowl, are you okay?"

Stunned, Prowl wondered how the twins had figured out he was upset. He was sure his stoic mask was in place. "Why do you ask?"

"Your doorwings are flat," Sunstreaker answered quietly.

Unconsciously, Prowl flicked them up then realized what he'd done. He glanced back at them as they sank back down to lie flat on his back. Usually, he controlled them as part of his body language, but he recognized he'd been slowly relaxing around the twins since awakening on the _Ark_. He wanted them to be part of his life so much he'd begun dropping his barriers without even noticing it. "I suppose they are," he admitted ruefully, knowing the twins would understand the gesture from their lovers.

"Can we do something? You know, to help?" Sideswipe gripped the desk's edge as though it had cost him all his courage to ask. "I know Blue's bringing you energon and all, but . . ."

Prowl watched Sideswipe's earnest face, the badly concealed pleading expression, and then transferred his gaze to Sunstreaker, who was staring pointedly at the wall where his painting hung. He could almost tangibly feel the tension rolling off them, the desire to connect, and he _understood_ it. He felt the same. With his anguish over having hurt Optimus and Jazz, Prowl felt powerless to fight his own pain and needs. Tired of denying himself a connection with the twins for millennia, he caved. His willpower seemed to snap like a twig under his tires. "I don't know," he whispered, catching Sideswipe's gaze again. "I wish so."

His optics surging brightly, Sideswipe stared at him, clearly shocked. Sunstreaker's head snapped around as he stared as well. Briefly, Prowl wondered if he'd made a horrible mistake, then Sideswipe stepped around his desk. However, he halted abruptly and shifted his weight from foot-to-foot.

"What do you need?" Sideswipe asked, lifting one hand as though to reach out and then letting it fall.

The desire to touch Sideswipe in some manner — squeeze his shoulder, cup his face, even hug him — nearly crushed Prowl's spark. Those touches could be misconstrued as sexual, however, and would seem too odd in their suddenness. Why? Why had it had to turn out this way? Why had he had to sacrifice so much? "Hope," he replied, brutal in his honesty and not knowing what else to say.

Frozen beyond the desk, Sunstreaker finally jerked into action, walking over to hover at his brother's side, but he shifted uneasily as though expecting to be ordered away. He remained silent, his shoulders hunched and tense.

"Hope?" Sideswipe asked, stepping around the desk to stand in front of Prowl. Again, he hesitated and fidgeted, lifting and then dropping his hand.

"Don't say anything to the others." Prowl frowned, trying to figure out how much he should say. Could say. "Not even Bluestreak or Smokescreen."

Sideswipe nodded, a concerned frown marring his face. "I promise. What's wrong?" Finally, he knelt by Prowl's chair, the movement stiff and uncertain.

Prowl sighed, trying to find the right words. "I'm trapped in a terrible position on multiple counts." He paused, knowing how strange his abrupt confession would seem. "There are several mechs here who I love, and I don't necessarily mean romantically."

"Like Blue?" Sunstreaker asked quietly, still hovering by the desk. "You treat him like he's your sparkling."

Despite the lack of animosity in the words, Prowl realized that the twins were jealous of Bluestreak on some level. "Yes, like Bluestreak."

Sideswipe glanced down, staring at his lap. "Yeah . . . he loves you like a creator, too."

Very jealous. Prowl reached out to cup Sideswipe's cheek, but his hand froze halfway there. The gesture was too intimate, or rather would be from Sideswipe's point of view. He dropped his hand in a mirror of Sideswipe's own hesitation. "Not just Bluestreak. And I've managed to hurt two of them. I didn't want to, would never want to. As of yet, I can't explain to them what's happening, and even once I can, I'm not sure it will make any difference." And that was the worst, most horrible truth of it. Once he had proof, once he could say everything he needed to say, both Optimus and Jazz might still reject him. In fact, on one or more counts, they might even be disgusted.

Gazing up at him again, Sideswipe seemed to gather the courage they all three lacked. He squeezed Prowl's arm. "Do they, whoever they are, love you, too?"

Prowl nearly wanted to weep for that simple touch and prayed that Sideswipe would continue to be so bold. "I believe so." However, after this catastrophe, he feared that they might reconsider their feelings.

"If they do, then love means forgiveness." Sideswipe's naturally affectionate nature seemed to win, and he grasped Prowl's hand in both his own. "I don't know what happened, obviously, but I doubt it was so horrible that they have to break ties with you for their own safety. That means that if they truly love you, then they will work through whatever-it-is with you. It might not be easy, but that's what love is."

Prowl stared at Sideswipe, flummoxed. He'd never seen this side of him before, never realized that he was developing genuine wisdom. Overjoyed by the realization and comforted by the words, he leaned forward and placed his free hand on top of Sideswipe's, squeezing gently. "Thank you." He allowed a small smile to escape him. "When did you get so mature, hm?"

Sideswipe grinned and ducked his head, and Sunstreaker knelt by him, gazing up at Prowl with a look he could hardly classify. Intense need? Hope? Fear? All three at once? Prowl had never seen Sunstreaker display such vulnerability. For a moment, Prowl's spark seemed to scream, and he instinctively reached out, cupping Sunstreaker's cheek. "There is so much more deep in your sparks that you never show others," Prowl murmured. "Except Bluestreak and Smokescreen, I assume."

Leaning faintly into the touch, Sunstreaker's optics dimmed, although he didn't reply. That simple acceptance of affection burnt Prowl's spark, and he wanted to throw himself on both of them and hug them to him.

"Hypocrite," Sideswipe whispered, his voice faintly tremulous. He tightened his grip on Prowl's hand.

Prowl smiled at him, struck by the genuine irony and truth of the statement. "Indeed." How much he wanted to extend this moment, to build a relationship with them, to be a significant part of their lives.

However, the reason he had not pressed upon Prowl with frightening intensity, prickling through his lines and circuits. He lowered his hand from Sunstreaker's face. "Back to what you were saying about Hyperdrive," he said, disturbed. "It's best for you to stay away from him. From all of them. Again, you must keep this to yourselves, but I'm not comfortable with our visitors."

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker traded frowns. "Yeah, Prime ordered us to steer clear of them, too," Sideswipe replied. "But why just us?"

How to explain? The twins were mechs of action, and if they believed they were in danger, they would strike first and ask questions later. But Prowl was sure they _were_ in danger. "They are a little too fascinated with twins. An investigation is currently under way, and until we're sure of their research practices, you need to keep your distance from them."

Sunstreaker leaned forward. "They see us as potential _research subjects_?" He seemed especially disturbed. "I did overhear them talking about an experiment one orn."

"_What?_" Prowl jerked to his feet abruptly. "What did they say?"

The twins stood as well, their shoulders tensing as they traded looks again. "They said something about getting 'subjects' and checking for 'abnormal sparks,'" Sunstreaker replied. "That was really all I heard."

Prowl thought his logic circuits might instantly fry. Proof! Not hard evidence, but at least some evidence of a spark-related current experiment. "Thank you for telling me about this." He felt his doorwings trembling with stress. "I don't like the sounds of it. _Stay away_ from them. I'm working on building a case against them right now." He flinched, knowing he had both said too much and not enough. "Don't share this information. I don't have enough hard evidence yet." But he was getting there more quickly now. He had to tell Optimus of this new piece immediately.

"We promise." Sideswipe seemed unusually solemn. "And we won't let them anywhere near us."

"Good." Only then did Prowl's doorwings stop shaking. Before he could say anything further, however, his external comm. link flared to life.

::Blaster to Prowl.::

::Prowl here.:: He cursed the interruption.

::Called command staff meeting in exactly one breem.::

::Acknowledged. Prowl out.:: Prowl frowned, wondering what it could portend. He glanced between the twins. "Thank you for your help."

Sideswipe gave him a tiny grin. "Anytime."

Sunstreaker nodded in agreement, and they left his office, murmuring quietly to each other. Prowl watched them until they were out of sight, cherishing the moment that had passed between them but worried about the new information they'd shared.

oOoOo

_Mechs' screams rent the air. Shouts. Rifle fire. The deafening _boom_ of explosions._

_"Don't let them escape!"_

_"Get their CMO! Get him!"_

_"Hold your position!"_

_Night Stalker ignored it all. He and Maverick tore through the hallways of Engineering, headed for the storage room where their sparklings' protoforms were kept. They had planned this entire orn in advance, mapped out their movements, stolen and subspaced supplies, and grabbed backpacks to carry the protoforms in. They knew where they were going and what they were doing, and now they just had to make it happen._

_Darkness shrouded the hallway, the emergency lighting giving little illumination. The CAF had raided the PSF once night had fallen, exactly as Power Run had told them. They had thanked him profusely for the intel, knowing too well how much danger he was putting himself and the mission in to alert them._

_As they passed the windows, they could see red, blue, and green blasts from various caliber rifles and special weapons. They sliced the night, a living testament to the CAF's anger, but Night Stalker still wouldn't trust them. He had no reason to. Silently, he skidded around the final corner, tripping slightly when the building shuddered with cannon fire. Imposing in the darkness was his target: the storage room's door. He pulled explosive putty from his subspace, packing it around the lock and setting up the fuse. Maverick and he retreated back around the corner to shield themselves from the explosion, and once it had blown, they pried the door open._

_"Quickly!" Night Stalker hissed as they slipped inside. They split up, Maverick checking the crates on the right side of the room while Night Stalker checked the left. He was halfway down the row when he found the crate with the first protoform in it. "Found them!" He opened the next box and found the second one._

_Maverick rushed over and dumped his backpack on the floor. Night Stalker carefully tucked the red-painted protoform inside, stealing some of the padding packs from the crate to cushion it. Then they repeated the process with Night Stalker's backpack and the yellow-painted protoform._

_"Let's go." Maverick slung his backpack onto his shoulders and raced from the room, Night Stalker following him closely. They used the emergency stairs to access the basement, which was now a morgue. All the medics, nurses, and scientists were conspicuously absent from the site of carnage; all that remained were berths full of greyed-out bodies._

_Night Stalker and Maverick were the only set of twins left alive now._

_Pulling his attention away from the corpses, Night Stalker spied the hidden escape tunnel. It was old, older than the Engineering building itself, and rumored to have been built during a long-forgotten war. Night Stalker wondered if it had already been used during the raid, but he didn't much care. If anyone tried to stop their escape, he would kill them. He jerked open the hatch, checked to see if it were clear, then motioned for Maverick to descend first. He then scrambled down the ladder, closing the hatch behind him._

_Once in the tunnel, they turned on their headlights for illumination. The air was musty and stale, dust swirling through the light as though angry at their interruption, and it made them cough as it hung in their vents. Night Stalker saw several sets of footprints on the equally dirty floor. "We may not be alone." He pulled his rifle from subspace and took the lead, running through the tunnel as fast as he dared, mindful of both debris and enemies._

_Maverick followed, his breath ragged in his vents. The physical exertion was hard on him since their sparklings were nearly full-term now. He didn't retrieve his rifle, instead pressing his hands to his chest as though supporting the sparklings from the outside. Still, he kept pace, and they reached the exit without meeting anyone else._

_Night Stalker cracked open the lid and peeked outside. The alley where they were emerging appeared empty, and he listened closely for sounds of movement. Nothing. Throwing open the lid, he scrambled out, checking quickly and making sure they were indeed alone. "Safe," he hissed._

_Maverick climbed out as well, and a quick assessment showed they were now off the base in the oldest business district of Praxus. Night Stalker dropped his backpack and transformed, opening his back door for his brother. "Put both the backpacks inside me."_

_Maverick did as asked and transformed as well, and they immediately fled the area._

_They were headed for Kaon, but as fate would have it, they didn't make it. Halfway between Praxus and the small city of Electrus, Maverick began to experience spark pains. Three breems later, he pulled off the side of the road and transformed, clutching his chest._

_Worried, Night Stalker pulled onto the shoulder, too, but he didn't transform. "Mav? What's wrong?"_

_"Hurts a lot," Maverick gasped. "I think the strain was too much. I think the sparklings are separating!"_

_Night Stalker felt a wave of panic, and he wasn't sure all of it was his. "Okay! Okay." His inner officer surged forward, taking command. "Climb on top of me and hang on tight. We're only two breems from the nearest hospital according to my GPS."_

_Maverick nodded and draped himself over his brother's frame. As soon as he was sure Maverick's grip was secure, Night Stalker gunned his motor and took off, managing to make the two-breem trip in one. When they reached the hospital, Maverick slid off of him to the ground, and Night Stalker transformed, picking up his brother and swooping into the ER entrance._

_"Carrier under separation!" he yelled as he neared the desk. The nearest nurse jumped into action, grabbing a hover-gurney, and the medic reviewing charts behind the desk threw down his datapad and rushed toward them. Night Stalker gingerly laid his panting brother on the gurney._

_"How far along is he?" the medic asked as they all began rushing down the hall to an operating room._

_Night Stalker frowned. "One more decaorn, and he would've been full term."_

_The medic nodded and began issuing orders to the approaching medical team. He glanced back at Night Stalker sharply. "Do you have the protoform, or do I need to have an emergency one pulled from storage?"_

_Night Stalker pointed to his own chassis. "I have them."_

_"Them?" The medic didn't wait for an answer. He pointed to the nearest nurse. "Get the protoforms from him." He and the rest of the medical team whisked Maverick into the room, leaving Night Stalker and the nurse in the hall._

_Night Stalker dutifully transformed. "They're in the backpacks."_

_"Long distance travel during the late term?" the nurse asked. "Not wise, you know."_

_Night Stalker didn't reply. He transformed as soon as the protoforms had been retrieved and watched through the window in the door. The medic and four nurses were swarming around Maverick, orders were being yelled, instruments and bags of fluids were being grabbed and passed._

_"Get me that SP scanner!"_

_"Here are the protoforms."_

_"A youngling carrying sparklings? What the frag? Okay, get the condensed energon."_

_"Primus, twins!"_

_"Get Hoist in here to assist."_

_"Hold him down. I said hold him!"_

_Maverick was struggling on the medberth, resisting the hands that restrained him. "Night! _Night!_"_

_Night Stalker slapped his hands against the glass, terrified. _::I'm here! Just outside the door.::

_"No!" Maverick yelled aloud. "No, I want Night in here with me! _Night_!"_

_"Maverick!" Night Stalker yelled back, knowing the door would muffle his voice._

_One medic glanced his way and snapped his fingers. "Get in here! Pick a spot out of the way and stay utterly still. If you get in the way, we'll kick you back out."_

_Night Stalker tore through the door and rushed to the medberth's head. "I'm here," he whispered, cupping his brother's face upside down. "You're going to be fine." He didn't feel composed at all, but he forced himself to calm down anyway. He pushed that feeling over the bond to Maverick. _::Relax. It's going to be fine. Looks like you're in good hands.::

_After a moment, Maverick stopped struggling and went limp on the berth. "Okay," he whispered._

_The newly-arrived second medic, who was boxy and green, leaned over Maverick. "Hello. My name's Hoist, and I'm going to take care of you and your sparklings." He triggered Maverick's chestplates open. "Tell me, have you been coached through practice sessions?"_

_Maverick shook his head. The PSF hadn't cared._

_"Oh, dear." Hoist gestured for a nurse to roll over the cart holding one of the protoforms. "Well, let me explain. Your sparklings are pulling away from your spark. The tendrils of energy connecting them to you are stretching thin and snapping in and out of existence. That's what is causing your pain." He triggered Maverick's spark chamber to open as well. "As soon as the tendrils snap out and stay out, I'll be pulling the first sparkling out of your chamber and putting him in his protoform." He gestured to the medic across the berth. "Comtron here will handle the second one."_

_Maverick was so nervous that Night Stalker felt jumpy. "Okay." He gasped, grimacing, and from his position, Night Stalker could see one tendril vanish momentarily, then the other._

_"You're quite far along." Hoist picked up in instrument that looked like prongs with pads on them. "Do you have designations picked out?"_

_Night Stalker supposed it was some kind of distraction tactic. "He can't quite make up his mind," he answered. It was a bald lie, but they needed to cover their tracks as much as possible. It was bad enough that the med team might remember their names from when they'd yelled them. Even after the CAF raid, the PSF would still send a team for them. Night Stalker would have to lie on all the forms the hospital gave him to fill out later. The hospital couldn't refuse treatment even if Night Stalker and Maverick couldn't pay, and as bad as it made Night Stalker feel, they would have to sneak out and let the hospital write off the expense._

_"Do you have creators or genitors we can contact?" Hoist asked, peering closely at the sparklings._

_Night Stalker noticed that one was hopping up and down slightly, as though trying to wiggle away from its parent, and was causing little blue flashes of light. Maverick hissed and gripped the berth tightly. "No," Night Stalker replied. "Our creator is dead." He stroked his brother's face gently._

_Comtron turned to one of the nurses. "Scan for viruses," he whispered._

_Night Stalker frowned, realizing that the medic had assumed they were street urchins surviving as pleasure 'bots. He wanted to disabuse them of that notion, but he chose not to. Their assumptions made things easier for them._

_"He's clear," the nurse said a moment later. "Strange chemical readings in his spark, though."_

_Hoist turned to Maverick. "Chemical readings?" He ran his own scanner over him. "How odd! Do you know what caused this?"_

_Maverick glared at him. "It's not my — " He yelled abruptly as the energetic sparkling hopped again, almost vibrating. The energy tendril vanished._

_"Sparkling one, clear!" With neat precision, Hoist snapped the prongs into Maverick's chamber and plucked out the sparkling. He turned and held the sparkling in the protoform's spark chamber, and after a moment, a blue flash lit up the chamber. "I have him." He pushed the cart away from the berth just as a lusty wail erupted from the sparkling._

_Comtron hovered over Maverick on the other side, the second protoform on another cart by him. "You're almost done."_

_"You're doing great," Night Stalker whispered. "Just hang in there." He dropped an upside-down kiss onto his brother's forehelm._

_The second sparkling seemed more sedate. For a solid klik he did nothing, then he strained outward, away from Maverick's spark. He rested, then strained again. No hopping or dancing around from this one._

_"You can already see a difference in their personalities," Comtron joked. "Come on, there," he told the sparkling. "Don't be mulish. Give us a good yank."_

_Maverick offlined his optics and seemed to concentrate. Night Stalker felt the intensity and forgot to pull air through his vents. Another two kliks more, and the sparkling strained again. The tendril vanished, and Maverick cried out from the pain._

_Comtron nabbed the sparkling, snapping it into its body quickly. Night Stalker could see a blue flash again, and then a second lusty wail filled the room. Maverick panted, clearly exhausted, and Night Stalker pressed another kiss upon him._

_"You were wonderful," he whispered. "Slagging brave!"_

_Maverick grinned, then turned his attention to Hoist as he approached with the first sparkling. "Hey!" He held out his arms expectantly._

_Hoist carefully settled the little red and black bundle in his arms, a white thermal blanket wrapped securely around him. "He's quite healthy. No problems detected."_

_"Thank you," Maverick said. He glanced over his shoulder to his brother. _::This one will be Sideswipe::

::Sounds good.::_ Night Stalker stared at the little form, entranced. His optics shone brightly, and his tiny fists were curled against his chestplates. He was grimacing, as though ready to cry again, but then he seemed to sense his carrier. He quieted down, his face smoothing out, and sighed. Night Stalker's spark melted instantly. It was the most beautiful, most adorable, most awe-inspiring thing he'd ever seen. _::I never imagined I'd have a sparkling,::_ he whispered to Maverick. _::But here I am having one with you, my brother and my best friend.::

_Maverick grinned up at him, a picture of beaming pride. "He's beautiful!" he exclaimed, his exhaustion seeming to have been temporarily brushed aside._

_Approaching from the opposite side, Comtron carried over the second sparkling. "This one is healthy as well. Congratulations."_

_Night Stalker stood, accepting the yellow and black bundle. _::Sunstreaker,::_ he said over the bond, officially naming his sparkling. Sunstreaker was distinctly frowning, his optics shining brightly as well. He waved his tiny fists in the air, a cry escaping, but Night Stalker tucked him close to his chest. He could feel a faint bond between them, although not as strong as the one he shared with Maverick. He pushed his love and care over that fledgling bond, and Sunstreaker quieted with a grunt. Night Stalker decided his entire spark had turned to liquid and had to be pouring out of him. "Amazing," he whispered. "Simply amazing!" He felt completely humbled and overwhelmed with love._

_"Whose designation should I put down as the sparker on the certificate?" Hoist asked._

_"Unknown," Night Stalker replied, playing into the assumption they were pleasure 'bots._

_To his credit, Hoist didn't react. "Very well." He gazed at Maverick. "We're going to move you into a private room and give you some time to bond with your sparklings before we run more comprehensive scans to verify their health. You'll also need to fill out the usual forms."_

_Maverick nodded, but Night Stalker knew they had to slip away as soon as they were left unattended._

_As planned, early in the morning they slipped away from the hospital and into the darkness, Maverick carrying the sparklings strapped securely inside his alt mode._

oOoOo

_Staring up at the abandoned, condemned tenet house, Night Stalker frowned. For two decaorns, he and Maverick had run nonstop, fleeing from town to city to town. Despite not trusting the Autobots, they were beginning to reconsider their position because Maverick was growing oddly weak. The only thing they could think of was to go to Autobot Headquarters in Iacon or maybe try to contact Power Run. Their objective was to keep the PSF from catching them, and they couldn't do that without help when Maverick was so drained._

_For now, though, they had reached their original destination, Kaon, and were in the slums, looking for somewhere to recharge. Somewhere where they didn't have to pay so they could use all their credits to buy energon instead._

_"It's condemned," Night Stalker said, eyeing the sagging structure with its broken windows and rusted external support beams._

_"It'll do." Maverick leaned against his shoulder. "Let's just hope we can find an empty room in there."_

_Night Stalker noted the shadowy figures slipping in and out of the front door. No doubt the homeless lived there and illegal transactions took place inside. "And safely."_

_They walked forward boldly, as though they knew where they were headed, but they hardly looked intimidating with sparklings clutched to their chests. When in root mode, they carried one sparkling each, not caring how exhausted it made them. Their sparklings' comfort was paramount. Right now, Night Stalker carried Sideswipe and Maverick Sunstreaker._

_Fortunately, they found an empty apartment on the eleventh floor that was dusty enough to seem long uninhabited. Maverick was so exhausted he stumbled against the doorway, and Night Stalker quickly took their sparklings and laid them on the ratty couch. It terrified him how weak Maverick had grown despite getting enough energon._

_Maverick had slipped to the floor just inside the doorway, and Night Stalker closed the door before kneeling beside him. "We need to spark merge again," he whispered, picking up his brother and carrying him across the one-room apartment._

_Apparently half in recharge already, Maverick didn't respond._

_Night Stalker gently laid him on the dusty, rusted berth. "Let me help," he whispered, climbing atop him. "Open up, bro."_

_Although his optics were barely lit, Maverick seemed conscious enough to understand. He folded back his chest plates. "Night . . ."_

_Wasting no time, Night Stalker opened his chest and carefully pressed their sparks together. What had become difficult for them during the experiment had grown easy again through repetition. Only a faint pause and their consciousnesses bled together. _::Just relax and let me feed you energy.::

_Maverick went limp beneath him, and Night Stalker wrapped his arms under his shoulders and head, pulling them flush. Maverick's deep exhaustion filtered into him, but with steely determination, Night Stalker pushed his own energy and life-force into his twin. Already they'd spark merged ten times that decaorn, literally once an orn._ ::Mav, take from me as much as you need.::

::You're draining yourself too much,::_ Maverick whispered back, his worry over his brother's health filling their bond._

_It couldn't outweigh Night Stalker's own concern, though. _::I'll be fine. Promise.::_ He poured his love into their bond, encompassing his brother with it, and hugged Maverick closer to him. He lowered his doorwings as well, trying both to surround his twin bodily and fill him emotionally._

_When he felt his brother's spark strengthen and steady, Night Stalker finally pulled away, sitting up and closing his chest plates. Maverick gazed up at him, his optics bright once again. As he closed his own spark chamber, he gave Night Stalker a small grin._

_"Should we feed them?" Night Stalker glanced over at their sparklings, who were beginning to stir out of their recharge, and climbed off the berth._

_"Yeah." Maverick sat up slowly and leaned against the wall. "I'm guessing they'll be hungry, anyway."_

_Neither one of them knew much about sparklings, wasn't sure how often to feed them, and was terrified they'd make a mistake and hurt them. Night Stalker could barely get energy into Maverick before he would begin struggling to reach one sparkling or the other to hold or feed him. Despite his concern for his brother, Night Stalker understood Maverick's feelings. They both tried to anticipate their sparklings' needs and hated to be separated from them even briefly._

_Sure enough, as soon as Night Stalker picked up Sideswipe, his optics surged on, and he began crying. "Are you hungry?" Night Stalker cooed softly, pressing a kiss to his forehelm before handing him over to Maverick. He returned for Sunstreaker, who had awakened with his brother and begun crying as well._

_As he picked up Sunstreaker, Night Stalker once again fell in love with the small, warm sparkling he cradled. Little arms waved in the air as Sunstreaker loudly demanded his energon, tiny fists curled tightly. "You're both so beautiful," he whispered, unfazed by the angry grimace on the sparkling's face. Night Stalker climbed onto the berth by his twin, leaning against the wall and extending a feeding tube from his wrist. Since sparklings could only drink pre-processed energon, Night Stalker and Maverick had to feed them from their own bodies, and N2 had equipped them both to be able to do so._

_Once Sunstreaker began sucking on the tube, his face smoothed out, and his intense gaze locked onto Night Stalker's. They watched each other intently, Night Stalker whispering his love to him and holding him close. If anything, he most enjoyed feeding his sparklings because their creator-creation bond seemed to flare open then, letting Night Stalker both speak aloud and over their bond of how much he loved them._

_"Leaving the PSF is the best thing we've ever done," Maverick murmured, holding Sideswipe just as closely. "I'll never take back making love to you like that, even though it was a mistake. We did this. We made this."_

_Night Stalker could feel the waves of love and contentment pouring from Maverick through their own twin bond. His brother had before never spoken so poetically, but he understood why he did now. This was special. Sacred. "You're right." He smiled at his brother._

_As far as Night Stalker was concerned, this was the best moment of their lives despite their being on the run._

_-o-_

_Searing pain wrenched Night Stalker from his recharge. He jerked upright, clutching his chest as his spark burnt and raged, and gasped raggedly. He glanced at Maverick and the twins, who were curled up beside him on the floor since they couldn't all fit on the berth, and he expected to see Maverick awake as well. No way could his twin recharge through such a sharp wave of pain tearing through their bond._

_Maverick didn't move._

_"Mav?" A spike of fear tore into Night Stalker's tanks, and he scrambled to his brother's side. "Mav!"_

_With a faint moan, Maverick's optics dimly lit. He mumbled, the words incoherent, and his head fell to the side. Their sparklings jolted awake and began crying._

_Something was deeply wrong. Night Stalker reached over their bond, screaming at his brother silently and reaching for him with his entire soul. He mentally grasped for his spark, its energy signature._

_It was air and vapor slipping through his fingers._

_"Maverick!" He grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking them. "Mav! Mav! Mav?" He pressed his audio to his brother's chest, trying to hear his systems over their sparklings' cries. The systems were too quiet, too slow, too low-pitched._

_A deep rattle reverberated through Maverick's chest as he gasped. "Night . . ."_

_Night Stalker sat up, grasping his brother's face in his hands. "You're weak! Too weak. I need to give you more spark energy immediately!"_

_"No." Maverick's voice was wheezy, his vocalizer spitting static. "Too dangerous."_

_"Yes! Open your chest now." Night Stalker folded back his armor. He didn't understand. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Didn't the energy transfusion earlier that night help? "Mav, please. I need to give you energy, and then we need to get you to a hospital. Something is wrong."_

_A strange, small smile turned up the corners of Maverick's lips. "Can't."_

_The sparklings' cries grew shriller, and Night Stalker reached over, desperately stroking each of them in turn. "I don't care about the PSF!" He transferred his hand to Maverick's chest, pressing. "We'll escape them. We will. We'll get in and out of the hospital before they catch us. Just open up!"_

_Maverick tried to raise his arm only to drop it. "Can't."_

_"Can't what?" Night Stalker's terror seemed to explode in his spark. "Can't open your chest plates?" This wasn't happening. It wasn't. Wasn't. "Wait! Transfusion line. I'll link to you." He opened the panel in his abdomen, his fingers shaking so hard he fumbled. The transfusion line would be weaker and slower, but it would still work._

_"Stop."_

_The finality of the tone, the clarity of the word, stilled Night Stalker's fingers. Eerily, their sparklings grew quiet as well, as though they sensed the depth of their genitors' fear and were momentarily silenced by it. Night Stalker glanced up at Maverick, coolant pooling in his optics as his distress overheated his processor. "Mav?"_

_Maverick was watching him with that strange, sad smile, with a wisdom beyond his age. The view of someone seeing past the physical world, like their creator as they watched him die. "It's too late."_

_"No, it's not!" Night Stalker jerked his cable out. "I won't let you go!" He could hardly think, hardly act. Did he force the transfusion? Grab Maverick and speed to the nearest hospital? No, wait, their sparklings — he couldn't leave them behind._

_A frown rippled over Maverick's face. "Our sparklings. Love them enough for both of us."_

_"No," Night Stalker whimpered, dropping his cable and clutching his twin's hand. "You can't leave me. You can't leave _us_!" He jerked air through his vents, shuddering. "Don't go! I love you, bro."_

_Maverick gave him a tiny grin, so faint, coolant pooling in his optics. "Love you . . ." The whine of electronics and gears winding down filled the air. "Protect . . . sparklings . . ." The encroaching grey suddenly enveloped his armor, and his optics faded black._

"No!"_ Night Stalker was screaming, but he didn't care. "Primus, no!" He doubled over, his universe ripping apart. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe screamed with him, undoubtedly feeling the loss of their carrier. _Maverick can't leave me, he can't! I love him, he's my brother, my other half. How can I live without him?

_Then it struck him._

_He couldn't._

_Night Stalker stared over at his wailing sparklings, mortified. "Oh, Primus, no! No, no, no! I can't die! I can't! I have to save them. Please, please Primus . . . I have to save them!" A burn erupted across his spark, sharp like the one that had awakened him, followed by a sharp ripping sensation. Terror surged through all his lines and circuits, icing his internals. "No, Primus, please . . ." Was this it? Was he going to drop dead on the floor and leave his sparklings in a slum for the PSF to find? He remembered M4 once mentioned that the surviving twin could last up to a decaorn; however, they could also die instantly._

_A supernova seemed to erupt in his spark chamber, tearing a scream of pain from him. He clutched his chest, clawing at it, peeling the paint from his fingertips and leaving scratches in the plating. The burning shot down his spinal strut, knocking him to the floor, and tore into his processor, making his optics fritz. His screams turned into static and hissing. The only thing he could process other than the pain was the wails of his terrified sparklings._

_And then blackness. Nothingness. A silence and stillness so complete he was sure he was dead but no longer sure he was ever alive at all.  
_

oOoOo

Entering the conference room, Prowl glanced around the assembled department heads. Ratchet and Wheeljack were whispering and laughing, and Perceptor was pouring over a datapad. Standing in the corner, Blaster and Jazz chatted about music, and nearby Red Alert argued quietly with Ironhide. As Prowl took his seat, Jazz glanced at him briefly, but then he turned away without acknowledging him.

Prowl held in a sigh, worried once again that even if forgiveness were eventually granted, acceptance would not be.

Optimus barreled into the room, Mirage on his heels. "We have a situation." He also didn't acknowledge Prowl's presence.

Everyone took their seats and gazed at Prime expectantly. "Mirage has returned from his mission on Cybertron with some disturbing news," Optimus continued, gesturing to the spy. "Explain your findings."

Mirage stood before them, a frown fixed to his lips. "Shockwave has amassed a considerable collection of energon cubes, and the snippets of conversation I overheard indicate he's planning a full-scale attack. All the comments between Shockwave and his subordinates indicated a mission to Earth. However, when I attempted to hack the mainframe, the only file I was able to retrieve was a schematic of the _Ark_ that could have been stolen any time in the last stellar cycle. In spite of this lack of intel, I did manage to catch sight of a ship almost the size of the _Nemesis_ in their space dock. It could carry an entire company easily."

"Did Shockwave seem to be intent on attacking us, or is he planning mutiny against Megatron?" Perceptor asked.

Mirage shook his head. "They were very careful about discussing their plans aloud. I wasn't able to determine that."

Prowl frowned. Technically it could be either, given the Decepticon version of 'loyalty,' but he didn't like the timing. _The PSF arrives to continue their experiment, and Shockwave plans a full-scale assault at the same time?_ He wasn't a big believer in coincidences, but he wasn't sure how the two could be connected yet. Perhaps with some analysis of the situation . . .

"Did ya get an idea about a time table here?" Jazz asked.

"Not a specific one, but they seem to be in the final stages of their preparations." Mirage held up one hand in a graceful gesture. "They seem to be waiting on something or someone. There were veiled references to 'when they arrive' and 'when we have all the information we need.'"

Prowl didn't like the sound of that at all. They? As in the PSF agents? But what would Shockwave want with Project Bond? _Wait, the Seekers were furious when Megatron outlawed bonding._

"That's cryptic." Red Alert's horns burst with blue current. "This just screams 'danger,' I tell you. Just screams it. Despite Starscream's regular acts of treachery, not all Decepticons are so bold. We are Shockwave's most likely target. Oh, this is dreadful!"

"I'm afraid I'm forced to concur." Optimus sounded grave, his voice deep. "No matter how preemptive it might be, we can't take any chances here. We must assume for now that Megatron and Shockwave are working together to launch an attack from Cybertron."

"Primus help us," Ratchet muttered.

Prowl couldn't agree more.

-o-

Blackjack glared at his external comm. link, which he had extended from his arm. Currently, only Detour was in their cabin with him, and he looked no happier. ::Say that again?:: he demanded. He'd just now returned from his long, boring shift on the command deck, and already he was being hassled by Nightflight.

Nightflight's sigh came over the connection clearly. ::I said that Flattop is sure he's been hacked. We ran a detailed analysis of his databanks, and it turned up illegal access to a few files.::

_One of Megatron's spies?_ Blackjack wondered. After all, Megatron would assume they were Autobots.

"Illegal access?" Detour hissed. He leaned closer to speak through Blackjack's comm. link. ::When?::

::Well, hello Detour, and good evening to you as well,:: Nightflight drawled, clearly mocking him. ::As a matter of fact, it was the night you so graciously brought Prowl up here to frag him. What did he do? Overload you so hard you offlined?::

::No such thing!:: Detour's doorwings shot high on his back. ::Slag, I didn't even get any action or any intel after all that effort. And no, I didn't let him out of my sight!::

::Yeah, right.:: Nightflight's smirk was painted all over his voice. ::You're such freeware, Detour. Did it ever occur to you to just get the intel _without_ trying to frag him?::

"Shut up and quit arguing!" Blackjack's optics surged bright in his anger. ::You dumbaft fraggers! I don't care how Flattop got hacked, and I care that you were all stupid and negligent enough to let it happen. I'm going to beat every bolt out of your bodies!::

A snort erupted over the comm. link. ::Well, before you do that, sir, you might keep in mind that Shockwave is waiting for us to bring him what he wants, and that'll take more than just you alone to pull off.::

::Shut your slagging mouth!:: Blackjack growled, enraged by Nightflight's insubordination.

::Certainly, sir.:: Again with the mocking tone. ::But don't you want to know what files were accessed? Or is that of no concern to you?::

Blackjack grew deathly still, hearing the seriousness hidden behind Nightflight's words. ::Which ones?::

::The old files on Project Bond and the service records of Power Run, Night Stalker, and Maverick.:: Nightflight sounded almost smug. ::Curious, don't you think?"

_"What?"_ Detour shrieked. His doorwings pulled back sharply. "How would anyone know to look for those files? That's impossible, right? Prowl's just a pixer, after all."

Blackjack dropped his arm, momentarily stunned. "No, Prowl knows." It seemed unthinkable. On his last count, only about two dozen mechs remained alive who knew the truth about the PSF's Project Bond, and he knew were each and every one of them was stationed. And yet somehow a total pixer had figured out what to search for. "But how does Prowl know?"

-o-

As the others muttered, Prowl gathered his courage. He knew Optimus might not agree with what he had to say, but he had to take that risk. "We cannot overlook the possibility that there may be a connection between the presence of the ex-Praxus Special Forces mechs currently on our base and the secret attack Shockwave is amassing. Perhaps it's an outside chance, but we should at least consider it."

The room fell deathly silent as everyone's attention turned to him.

"I ain't followin' yer logic," Jazz said, frowning.

Prowl glanced at Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Red Alert, each in turn. "I'm unsure how much Prime told you when he put you on alert, but our visitors have illegally accessed files and records during their stay here."

"Prowl, I must agree with Jazz. I see no connection between the two events," Optimus said, voice grave.

"I respectfully disagree, sir." Prowl gazed at the department heads. "We cannot ignore the fact that if their experiment works, our visitors have to have someone to market the results to. While corruption in the Autobot ranks is not unheard of, we are sure that given what it will cost to obtain the results, Prime is not likely to be interested. If he isn't, who would be?" Even as he spoke, Prowl realized a very real connection likely existed between the ex-PSF agents and the 'Cons.

"Ah, Prowl." Jazz sounded irritated. "Ya can't make everythin' about the PSF."

Wheeljack held up one hand. "Wait. I do have some questions, and we do have to rule out the possibility." He looked at Prowl. "Prime didn't say too much. What is this experiment supposed to be on?"

Seeing his chance, Prowl immediately took advantage of the attention. "Spark bonds. It's the revival of an ancient experiment conducted on split spark twins. The goal of the experiment was to alter sparks in such a way that it would change how bonds work. Specifically, that if one twin died, the other would still live. If successful, the technique would have been offered to bondmates Cybertron-wide."

Ratchet glowered, clenching his fist on the tabletop. "I remember hearing about that. The PSF killed every single twin in the experiment. There was a trial, and several of the officers were executed."

"Exactly." Prowl felt exceedingly grateful to Ratchet and his temper in that moment. "The experiment didn't work the way they intended."

"And you're saying that this experiment is being conducted again now?" Red Alert leaned forward, pressing his palms on the table. "Why, that puts Sunstreaker and Sideswipe in terrible danger!" He glanced at Prime. "No wonder you put us on alert, sir."

Optimus sighed. "We have yet to verify that a current experiment is being conducted."

"Although you must admit, sir, that we aren't lacking suspicious activity." Prowl trained his gaze on his fellow officers again. "Among the illegally accessed files are our twins' medical records, general information on twins, data on sparks, and searches for spark experiments."

"I don't like the sound'a that," Ironhide drawled. "Sounds ta me like they're tryin' to get somethin' goin' here."

A murmur of agreement rose from several, although Wheeljack shook his head. "I wish we had hard evidence that's what they're up to, but — "

"But we don't," Optimus interrupted. "And this is the point here. We can't make arrests without it, and there is still no clear link between our visitors' odd activities and Shockwave."

Prowl hid a frown, fighting to keep his doorwings from slumping. Although Optimus was technically right, he usually gave more weight to Prowl's hunches. Even worse, Jazz was staying silent when he usually backed up Prowl's 'wilder' ideas.

The support he usually had was absent.

-o-

Blackjack snapped himself out of his stupor and met Detour's equally shocked gaze. "We have to logic this out." If someone knew the truth about Project Bond, they were running about of time with more mechs than just Shockwave. The Prime and part of his command staff might be on to them as well. If that were the case, one tiny mistake would seal their fate. "Only someone previously in the PSF would know to look for those files."

Nodding slowly, Detour seemed to pull himself together, his doorwings dropping to their normal position on his back. "Prowl has to be ex-PSF. He's been playing us all along." He frowned, continuing in a hiss, "Playing _me._ No wonder he kept asking me questions about Base Ceti and our research there. He was trying to gather intel, too."

"So he knows about Project Bond," Blackjack said, pulling the facts together in his processor. "He knew to pull those files, and he must suspect that we're after Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. And given the three service records he took as well, we can easily narrow down his previous identity. He has to be Power Run, Night Stalker, or Maverick."

Detour crossed his hands over his chest. "I swear I never took my optics off him for an instant. I don't see how he could have hacked Flattop in the first place."

"Probably had an accomplice." Blackjack waved his hand through the air in dismissal. "Like I said, I don't really care. Never mind that for now. The real question is which one is he?"

Pacing back and forth in their cabin, Detour was quiet momentarily, his doorwings twitching faintly as he concentrated. "Well, we all know Maverick is dead. We collected his corpse from some slum in Kaon not long after the CAF's raid, and the Autobots reported Night Stalker died about a decaorn later."

Blackjack sighed, irritated. "So they say. But I happen to know that Power Run is involved in that fragging Autobot counter movement out in the beta quadrant. There's no way he and Prowl can be the same mech."

Detour halted and faced him. "You're sure it's the same Power Run?"

"Absolutely." Blackjack met Detour's gaze, realizing there was only one possible answer. His entire universe seemed to topple over and suddenly rearrange itself, and he gasped faintly. "The Autobots lied. Night Stalker _lived._"

Detour held up one finger. "But Nightflight reported that a body was entombed."

Distantly, from Blackjack's arm, came Nightflight's voice. ::Yeah, I did. But all I saw was the coffin not the body itself. They could've put spare parts in there for all I know.::

Blackjack raised his arm, tacitly including Nightflight in their conversation again. "No verified corpse," he said to them both. "Night Stalker is alive." The implications of that fact seemed to explode in his processor.

Frowning, Detour crossed his arms again. "Night Stalker is _Prowl_."

-o-

Prowl locked gazes with Optimus, disturbed by the lack of support both he and Jazz were displaying. "As I said, if their experiment succeeds, they will need someplace to market it. Someone to sell the results to. Megatron has banned bonding for the 'Cons, and you wouldn't support or accept the research itself." He returned his attention to his fellow department heads. "Logically, this leaves us only Starscream or Shockwave."

"Please continue," Wheeljack said, leaning forward. Fortunately, logic had always been an effective means of engaging him in debate.

Prowl complied. "The Seekers' fury over Megatron's banning of bonding is legendary, so Starscream has motive. However, Starscream usually acts alone. We have intel that Shockwave is planning an assault. The concurrence of the PSF's renewed interest in their experiment and Shockwave's assault may be utter coincidence, since correlation does not imply causation."

"And it don't," Jazz interrupted, crossing his arms. "There's just no proof of a connection."

"However," Prowl continued, unfazed, "setting aside a coincidence and momentarily assuming there _is_ a connection, we have two options: Starscream and Shockwave are working together to overthrow Megatron and planning to sway the 'Cons — especially the Seekers — with the offer to bond again. Or Shockwave is working alone and using the same ploy." He paused, giving the others a moment to process his words, and realized with horror that his theory was just a bit _too_ plausible.

Ironhide seemed to agree. "I gotta say that makes sense ta me."

Jazz shook his head. "Sorry, I don't follow ya. And I'll tell ya why: as suspicious as I am of the ex-PSF mechs, there is zero hard evidence for yer theory. I'm on board with the idea they're up to no good, but yer grasping at filaments here."

"I'm forced to agree," Optimus said, leaning back in his chair. "I understand your concern for the twins — "

_Not truly,_ Prowl thought, frowning.

" — but you're biased." A note of finality crept into Optimus' voice.

Prowl's world screeched to a rubber-burning halt, the shock and pain of the words vibrating through his body like tectonic tremors.

But Optimus wasn't finished. "You admitted to me you yourself are ex-PSF and were in the original experiment. Your efforts to date show you assumed the worst from the moment they arrived. While I want the data you're decrypting and can't deny suspicious activity has occurred, I'm forced to conclude that you're emotionally compromised."

"What?" Ratchet sat up straighter. "But they reported all the twins in the study died!"

"This information cannot leave this room!" Prowl hissed, furious. "I've spent my entire life protecting — " He paused, his doorwings shooting high on his back. He glared at Optimus. "I was put into Witness Protection for a reason. If they find out I'm still alive, all my sacrifices will have been for nothing, and I'll end up dead. Not to mention what will happen to our twins!"

Jazz leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. "Okay, I get why yer worried about the twins. But why would they kill ya after all this time?" He shook his head. "I admit I hate our visitors. They're arrogant, and they've done some weird stuff. But even if they find out who ya are, what difference could it make after all this time? I gotta say I agree in this case. I think yer emotionally compromised."

The color bled from Prowl's world. Grey. The room, the mechs, everything. Grey. Neither Optimus nor Jazz believed him. He had no choice. He couldn't wait until he finished breaking the code on the files. He had to explain the whole story now, even if it meant everyone thought he was crazy. Surely either Ratchet or Perceptor would see the significance, make the connection, or realize the danger. If they didn't, he'd end up in Smokescreen's care for a long time to come.

Ratchet was looking back and forth between Optimus and Jazz, frowning. "Wait a klik. Aren't the two of you riding Prowl a bit hard here? He did say illegal searches and accesses had been carried out on the twins' medical records, spark experiments, and the like. That _is_ too suspicious to ignore."

Grateful for his advocate, Prowl turned to Ratchet. "In addition, Sunstreaker told me earlier that he overheard them discussing 'subjects' and 'spark abnormalities' one orn."

"That doesn't sound good," Wheeljack said, audiofins flashing overly brightly.

"They said 'subjects' and 'spark abnormalities?'" Optimus sat forward, clearly worried. "Did Sunstreaker give the context for that? What else did he say?"

Finally, Prowl had Prime's genuine attention again. Perhaps there was hope after all. "Not much else, sir. I find it distressing that they were having a _current_ discussion about such things, however."

Ratchet had been watching Prowl carefully. "If you were put in Witness Protection, then that explains why none of this is in your medical files. But let me make sure I've got this right. _You_ are one of the twins from the original PSF experiment? And you didn't die after all?" He canted his head to side. "Well, obviously you didn't. But that's interesting. Everyone knows that if one twin dies the other does also, so what happened to your twin?"

A room full of expectant glances turned Prowl's way.

-o-

Blackjack and Detour stared at each other, struck mute. For long moments, no one spoke, even Nightflight keeping his usual caustic, sarcastic remarks to himself.

Finally, Blackjack collected his scattered thoughts. "Since Night Stalker survived Maverick's death that means our experiment works."

Detour's optics surged. "The fraggin' answer's been under our noses all this time! Primus, we're so dense. I can't believe this!"

"Our experiment works," Blackjack repeated, his astonishment morphing into maniacal excitement. "We already succeeded millennia ago! All Whisper has to do is replicate it." It was disgusting, really, to have been delayed by Prowl, and he could only assume Witness Protection had been involved somehow. Obviously so since Night Stalker had new paint and a new designation, and there was no indication he'd ever served in the PSF. Blackjack felt the sudden urge to curse. If he'd known the experiment worked, he would have stopped at nothing to grab both Night Stalker and the sparkling twins ten millennia ago. Witness Protection and Autobot guards aside, Blackjack would have marshaled the top skill and talent remaining in the PSF and dragged their final three research subjects back to Praxus. However, he'd assumed at the time that it was a waste of resources, that the experiment had been a failure. "Primus slag it!" He punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I could have been disgustingly rich and famous all this time!"

Detour grunted. "Yeah. I wonder how the little fragger managed to outwit us. Hardly seems fair that he's stood in our way for ten millennia."

"We can't waste a moment more." Blackjack opened his internal comm. link and broadcast to his subordinates. ::Blackjack to all agents. Prowl is Night Stalker. Repeat: Prowl is Night Stalker, previously _sokii_ I12. Confirmation of our experiment's success is already in our hands. As soon as Megatron attacks again, grab Prowl and the twins immediately. We're going back to Cybertron.::

A chorus of affirmatives met his audios, and Blackjack closed the connection. He grinned at Detour, delighted. "And here I thought Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were just another set of twins."

Detour smirked. "You think they've inherited Night Stalker's spark deviation."

Laughing, Blackjack clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm counting on it. By studying all three of them, surely we can rush the process to trial on the Seekers. Shockwave will be pleased, and we'll be famous, rich, and promoted." In fact, Shockwave had promised Blackjack the position of SIC once Megatron was defeated and Starscream and Soundwave were killed.

It was everything Blackjack had worked for and wanted for millennia.

-o-

Prowl knew every mech in the room was intensely curious to hear his answer, and he wanted to curse. Still, he trusted these mechs with his life when on the battlefield. He had to trust them now, too, and hope they would accept what he had to say despite his current lack of proof. Then again, to a certain extent, he would never have enough proof, hence his fear he would be labeled delusional or insane.

"Well," Prowl said, pulling a deep intake of air through his vents. "That is rather — "

The red alert klaxon roared to life, slicing through Prowl's words, and the entire base shook from missile impacts. Dust, rocks, and debris rained from the ceiling above them, which was punctured through with stalactites.

Trailbreaker's voice erupted over the base's comm. system. ::Red alert! Decepticons are attacking the _Ark._ All mechs to battle stations!"

"We'll finish this later." Optimus jumped to his feet, racing for the door. "Everyone to their posts!"

As everyone scrambled from the room, Prowl fell in step behind Optimus and tried to quell a surge of fear. Even though he knew Shockwave couldn't have made his move yet, Prowl still didn't like the timing of the attack. He could feel, deep in his spark, that something terrible would happen this orn.

_Primus help us,_ he prayed, haunted by the mental image of the twins kneeling before him, so worried and sweet. _Keep them safe._

_

* * *

_

_Postscript: Next week is my post for the PxJ Comm Anniversary Challenge on LJ, so I won't be updating this story until the following week._

_The theme song for Night Stalker and Maverick is "Broken" by Seether and can be viewed here: http: / www . youtube . com / watch? V = JeI4Ft8P7ks (Take out the spaces.)_

_I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh;  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away.  
I keep your photograph; I know it serves me well.  
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain._

_'Cause I'm broken when I'm open,  
And I don't feel like I am strong enough.  
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome,  
And I don't feel light when you're gone away._

_- "Broken," Seether_


	8. Remember that You Must Die

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! A special thanks, since I can't PM you, to Christina, Timonx3, xxxxx, AquamarineRagDoll, won't be the Victim, Ltuae-42, and Phoebe Turner for your feedback!_

_Since this is an AU, I've taken creative license and sided with Sunstreaker's Universe toy. He has a jetpack, too. Also, I desperately wanted to use the cliff face cannons for the Ark, but they aren't present in canon until 2006. Therefore, Asher119 is graciously letting me use the ion cannons from her story "Fracture Mechanics." In addition, this chapter briefly references "The Insecticon Syndrome."_

_Circuit su: For those who might not know, the ability to use spark energy in an attack is canon, but of course I'm borrowing Prowl's knowledge of circuit su from TFA._

_"Sitrep"=situation report._

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 8: Memento Mori  
**__**or Remember that You Must Die **_

Prowl followed Optimus Prime onto the command deck, wondering what catastrophe had beset them now. He hardly had the energy to deal with it, whatever it was. His entire universe seemed grey and flattened, utterly void. His spark ached with the realization that Optimus and Jazz had both withdrawn their support of him.

"Sitrep!" Optimus called out.

Trailbreaker looked up from Teletraan. "The Decepticons are attacking with the Insecticons and their clones as support. Our teams are gathering at the entrance."

"Insecticons?" Ironhide asked, grimacing. "Ah, man. Didn't we get enough'a those blasted Insecticons at Iron Mountain?"

Prowl shook his head, feeling even more exhausted at hearing the news. On principle, he agreed with Ironhide, but that wasn't really the issue. "The better question is 'didn't Megatron get enough of them?'"

"How many clones?" Optimus glanced at the viewscreen.

Trailbreaker sounded grim. "At least a hundred, sir."

"Man Teletraan and focus the base's cannons on the clones. Deploy Skyfire, Powerglide, and Cosmos against the Seekers, and summon Omega Supreme. I'm sure Devastator will make an appearance." Optimus turned to Prowl and Jazz. "We'll lead the teams on the battlefield. Prowl, bring your team in from the right. Jazz, the left. I'll charge Megatron head-on. Ironhide, you're with me. Transform and roll out."

Shocked into action by the normalcy of Optimus' commands — at least he was still leading a team — Prowl transformed and sped for the entrance, his battle computer pulling him out of his daze by feeding him countless scenarios. After collecting his team at the entrance, he returned to his root mode and sneaked around the battlefield's parameter, using the boulders as cover. His team, which consisted of Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Windcharger, and Brawn, followed closely behind him. He'd barely gotten into position when he heard whoops of utter glee overhead. Glancing up, Prowl saw Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had employed the new jetpacks to jump atop Thrust and Starscream. At that moment, all of Prowl's joy and hope seemed to rest entirely in his offspring.

Starscream's shrill protests could clearly be heard over the fray. "Get off me, bit brain!" He hurled himself into a barrel roll.

Shaking his head, Prowl hoped his twins wouldn't do anything too insane. In moments like these, they acted purely like Maverick, who had always rushed in first and cooked up some witty plan second.

Smokescreen crouched by him, pausing as the _Ark's_ ion cannons blasted overhead, tearing into a swath of Insecticon clones. "Sir, I've got a clear shot at encircling the Constructicons." He pointed to the nearby green and purple mechs.

Prowl knew where his thoughts were headed. "Do it. We have to keep them from forming Devastator, especially since Omega isn't here yet."

Nodding, Smokescreen transformed and tore out from behind the boulder, shooting his magnetic smoke from his tailpipe and encircling the Constructicons with it. Prowl gestured to the rest of his team to surround the Constructicons.

As soon as everyone was in place, Prowl gave the order. "Attack!" However, before he could engage the enemy, he noticed Hyperdrive racing across the battlefield toward Jazz's position. _The twins are with Jazz,_ Prowl thought, worried. _No, it's okay. Jazz always keeps a close watch on his team. He takes good care of his mechs._

Despite his self-assurances, Prowl's uneasy feeling remained. Thanks to their jet judo, the twins were well-known for getting separated from everyone else during a battle.

-o-

Sideswipe hit the ground and rolled to absorb the impact. Once he was on his feet, he immediately yelled after his latest victim. "Hey, Screamer! Your designation sure fits you!" Starscream, however, showed him nothing but the red glow of his afterburners.

Hitting the ground next to him, Sunstreaker rolled as well. Gaining his footing, he began brushing dirt and sand off his shoulder struts. "Primus slag it, why did the _Ark_ have to land in the desert? There's a forest to the east and a forest to the west. But _no_. We have to land where the most dirt and grime are."

Behind them, Sunstreaker's opponent, Thrust, slammed nose-first into the ground. A howl of pain erupted from the injured jet, followed by abrupt silence. Dirge and Ramjet circled over them once, then headed downward.

"Nice job," Sideswipe remarked, faintly irked to have been outdone by his twin. He was distracted from his pouting, however, by the sight of Dirge and Ramjet landing by their injured trinemate. "Heh. Losers." He jerked his thumb toward them, adopting a fake air of sweetness. "Shall we?"

Sunstreaker's smirk was cold, malicious, merciless. "Frag, yeah."

Nothing was scarier than Sunstreaker with battle lust, not even Megatron furious. What others didn't understand was that Sideswipe could feel his twin's intentions deep in his spark. He knew where the rage and destruction were aimed. Despite Sunstreaker's decidedly anti-social tendencies, that primal force would never be aimed at his fellow Autobots. "Let's do it."

They tore across the sand, hurdling themselves at their opponents and knocking them to the ground. Sideswipe straddled Dirge's chest, pinning his arms at his sides and pummeling his face with hard, heavy punches. Energon flew from Dirge's nose and mouth, coating Sideswipe's fist and splattering his arm and chest. To his side, a shrill scream erupted from Ramjet, only to be cut off with a faint gurgling. Sideswipe glanced over long enough to see that his brother was choking Ramjet, intent on crushing his throat.

A flash of light in his periphery caught Sideswipe's attention, though, and he paused to snap his gaze toward it, ignoring Dirge's weak, feeble attempts to dislodge him. Off to the side, Hyperdrive grinned at them maniacally, flexing his hands. Road Hugger stepped up beside his companion, his face expressionless. Neither moved to help.

Suddenly, Sideswipe got a bad feeling. Prowl had said not to trust them, and something about their behavior seemed off.

-o-

Prowl hit the sand and rolled backwards, trying to absorb some of the impact. Mixmaster had honed in on him, but at least they couldn't form Devastator. However, before Prowl could react further, Brawn charged Mixmaster, driving his arm behind his knees and knocking him flat. Once Mixmaster was down, Brawn tackled him with a flurry of punches.

_Ah, battle lust,_ Prowl thought to himself, caught somewhere between amusement and appreciation. He'd been trained in both circuit su and diffusion, achieving high ranks in both, but that didn't automatically make him love melee combat.

A pained yelp drew his attention to the boulders they'd used as cover. The cry sounded like Bluestreak's, and Prowl glanced around the area, trying to verify Bluestreak's position. Unfortunately, Smokescreen's smoke clung to almost everything, filling the air up to twice Prowl's height. Unsure and concerned, Prowl glanced at Brawn, assessing his fight. Realizing Mixmaster was close to being knocked offline, Prowl dashed toward the boulders. He knelt at the end, peeking around the side. Seeing nothing but a substantial dust cloud, he raised his rifle and charged . . .

Right into empty space.

"Why, thank you for accommodating me," drawled a soft, lilting voice.

Prowl whipped around, facing Detour. One look told Prowl what he needed to know: Detour was holding an energy blade, a smirk displayed on his lips. "_You,_" he spat, knowing immediately the moment he'd feared was at hand. He opened his comm. link, trying to contact the twins, but he got nothing but dead air. _A local dampening field,_ he decided, disgusted.

Swinging his energy sword back and forth a few times, Detour gave him a nasty grin. "Nice try, _Night Stalker._ But your efforts are wasted."

_It's over,_ Prowl thought, his tanks plummeting. However, determined to die fighting if necessary, Prowl gathered his spark energy in preparation to attack. Prowl remembered that Detour was accomplished in Metallikato, which meant Prowl's only choice was to utilize circuit su. Unfortunately, with Smokescreen's smoke covering the area and everyone engaged in fighting, no one was likely to see or hear them. Without his comm. link, Prowl couldn't call for assistance.

He was on his own. Everything rode on his ability to defeat Detour in combat.

-o-

Sideswipe slugged Dirge in the face, knocking him offline, and stood, his gaze still pinned to Road Hugger and Hyperdrive. Hyperdrive had started cackling, although Road Hugger remained expressionless. Somehow, Sideswipe found that deeply creepy. _::Sunny,::_ he called over their bond. _::Sunny, something's up.::_

No response. Sideswipe glanced at his brother and saw he was lost in his fight. Ramjet's nose was flattened, and his face was a mess of processed energon. Sunstreaker gripped one of his wing's edges and was bending it slowly. "Sunny!" Sideswipe yelled, trying to get his attention.

"It's useless."

Despite the roar of the battle, Sideswipe still managed to hear the quiet, toneless words. His gaze snapped back to Road Hugger, who had canted his head to the side. Sideswipe punched a burst of fear over his bond and tried again. _::Sunny, we're under assault.::_ Not waiting for his brother, he sank into an attack stance, trying to decide whether to rush Hyperdrive or Road Hugger. Road Hugger was up to something, he was sure of it, but Hyperdrive was the bigger threat.

_::What?::_ finally came the reply. A pause, and suddenly Sunstreaker was at his side. "What do you freaks want?"

Hyperdrive laughed outright. "All I have to say is you all would have made good Decepticons."

Stiffening, Sunstreaker growled and clenched his energon-covered fists. "Shut up, fragger."

Sideswipe fought off a grimace. Sunstreaker hated it when mechs said that. The viciousness of his attacks and his desire to fight had nothing to do with his personal beliefs or ethics. Hyperdrive would have been better off to have shot Sunstreaker or ruined his paint. _::Let's just take them out,::_ he told his twin. _::I'll take Road Hugger. You can have Hyperaft.::_

"Sounds good," Sunstreaker replied aloud, stalking forward.

Road Hugger whipped a small remote control from his subspace, and immediately Sideswipe knew they were fragged. In his peripheral vision, he noted Sunstreaker's new jetpack and remembered suddenly that Road Hugger had helped build it. He recognized immediately where he'd miscalculated. "Sunny!"

His realization came too late. His entire sensor net erupted in an electrical surge, and he cried out as his systems began crashing. He saw Sunstreaker jerk, blue sparks jumping across his frame, and then white static filled Sideswipe's vision as he pitched forward helplessly to the ground.

-o-

Prowl crouched low, taking a defensive stance. After trading several blows with neither of them scoring a decisive hit, Detour had disappeared into the dust cloud they'd kicked up. Flaring his doorwings wide, Prowl focused his entire sensory net on detecting Detour's presence. Unfortunately, Detour also had doorwings, which meant he could navigate the dust cloud without his vision and any advantage Prowl would have gained from his sensor net was cancelled. Most likely, Detour would try to sneak up from behind, so Prowl shifted several times as he scanned, making sure he wasn't an easy target.

However, despite his efforts, Prowl suddenly felt the heat from an energy blade against his throat.

"Got you," Detour whispered directly into his audio.

Prowl knew he was dead. Even if he could escape this attack, if he were captured, he'd literally be tortured until death. Still, he had to live long enough to ensure the twins' safety. In one blinding movement, he jerked his arm up to push the blade clear and stomped backward with his heel, hoping to injure Detour's foot. A burning pain erupted in his neck and arm from the blade, but he grabbed Detour's wrist and twisted underneath his arm, stepping clear and forcing Detour to drop his blade. However, Detour struck outward, interrupting the technique, and twisted back out of what would have been an arm hold. Prowl quickly kicked the energy sword out of Detour's reach, but Detour charged him. Prowl tucked down his shoulder, using Detour's own momentum against him and tossing him over his back. Immediately, before Detour could return to his stance, Prowl spun and swept up one leg. The roundhouse kick struck home, emptying a burst of blue spark energy into Detour's helm. Detour stumbled backward, and Prowl pressed his attack, his fists pummeling Detour's armor. Landing a final blow, Prowl brought his right fist up in an uppercut, pushing his spark energy through his hand and into Detour's helm. Detour flew backwards, landing hard on his back and stirring up a small dust cloud. He remained motionless, knocked offline.

_I have to find the twins,_ Prowl thought, glancing around the battlefield. Thanks to the lingering smoke, he still couldn't see much. Sharp panic lanced his spark as he realized he might be too late. _Primus, no! Don't tell me they've been taken!_

"Nice job," someone remarked behind him.

Prowl whirled to face Blackjack, but it was already over. Blackjack had aimed his rifle at Prowl's chest and immediately pulled the trigger. A flash of pain tore through Prowl's sensory net, making him cry out in agony, and then the world snapped out of existence.

oOoOo

_Although he'd finally reached Iacon, Night Stalker wasn't sure he could take another step. He didn't have the physical energy or the emotional energy to do so. The universe was flat, grey, sterile. All sounds seemed muffled, scents nonexistent, sights washed out and skewed. All he could bring himself to care about were the recharging sparklings he held curled up against his chest. He had to get them to safety, and as soon as he did, he could rest. Most likely forever. He didn't want to leave behind his sparklings, wasn't sure who he could find to keep them safe, but he felt dead already without Maverick._

_Then again, he was _supposed_ to be dead. According to what he knew, he only had two orns left maximum._

_"I should die soon," he mumbled to himself, his thoughts dull and cyclical. "Did Primus grant my prayer?" It was rare for a surviving twin to even live a decaorn. However, there was another possible explanation. "Did the experiment work?" He wasn't sure what to feel. If he lived, he could protect his twins himself, love them, cherish them, watch them mature. If he died, he could be with Maverick again — his other half, what made him _him_._

_And about the time he began to worry about that, he slipped back into that heavy numbness that seemed to compress his chest, that sinking depression draining his spark from its chamber like a black hole._

_Logic told him that the PSF would have tracked them to the abandoned tenet house. The PSF would have found Maverick's body. With what little energy he had to feel anything, he found it galled him to think of their getting their hands on Maverick and dissecting him. Studying him. Turning him into scraps and pieces. It made his tanks churn, but saving Sunstreaker and Sideswipe came first. Maverick would understand that._

_Darkness had fallen, turning Iacon into a sea of shimmering lights. Night Stalker vaguely registered that he was walking through a business district filled with cafes and pubs. Raucous laughter and shouts filtered into the street, but Night Stalker felt completely disconnected from the living world. He barely noted the mechs he passed. However, the emptiness in his tanks alerted Night Stalker that he needed to refuel, especially since his sparklings would be hungry soon. Randomly selecting a café, he headed for the door, only to collapse to his knees in the middle of the outdoor seating area._

_"Are you all right, sparky?"_

_The voice was kind but gruff. Night Stalker glanced up to find young, boxy mech kneeling over him. A grey chevron framed his forehelm, a contrast to his red and white paint. "Huh?" He couldn't quite understand what was happening to him._

_"My designation is Ratchet. I'm a medic." The mech eased him down until he was fully sitting on the ground. "You're obviously badly fuel-depleted, and I hope to Primus you're not feeding those sparklings on top of it." He pulled a scanner out of his subspace. "Slag, you're weak. I need to get you to a hospital."_

_Night Stalker's processor fought to keep up with the words, but once he understood, the world seemed to snap into focus. "No!" It came out as a yell, so he dropped his voice to an angry whisper. "No, you can't take me to a hospital. They'll take away my sparklings. You — " He cut himself off, realizing he probably sounded insane._

_A second white mech stood from the nearest table and knelt by Ratchet. "Paranoia?" the mech asked softly. "On top of his condition? Is he high?"_

_Night Stalker glared at the second young mech, his gaze momentarily fixated on his flashing audiofins. "I'm not on anything."_

_"His lines and circuits are clean," Ratchet said. "He's just in bad shape." He held the scanner over Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "The sparklings are in surprisingly good shape, though."_

_The second mech knelt in front of Night Stalker. "Hi, I'm Wheeljack. What's your designation?"_

_This Wheeljack mech seemed friendly, but Night Stalker had no reason to trust him. "You can call me Night." The word 'night' was common enough in designations._

_"Well, hello, Night." Wheeljack's audiofins flashed cheerfully. "Are you sure you won't let us take you to a hospital?"_

_Night Stalker shook his head, adamant._

_Wheeljack glanced at Ratchet, dropping his voice into a whisper. "Look, twins. Do you think it has to do with that raid we carried out?"_

_"Power Run asked that the medical team search for a pair of twin younglings," Ratchet replied, his voice low. "He said one was carrying sparklings."_

_Wheeljack nodded. "How old do you think those sparklings are?"_

_Although annoyed to be discussed as though he weren't present, Night Stalker saw his chance and took it. "You're CAF? Yes, please take me to Power Run. He was — is — our friend." He didn't truly trust the CAF, but it seemed to be the only hope he had left._

_Ratchet and Wheeljack traded glances, then Ratchet turned to Night Stalker. "So you're one of the two youngling PSF agents Power Run reported as missing."_

_Nodding his head, Night Stalker wondered if he were truly making the right choice or not, but he decided his only chance was to trust Power Run himself. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker began to stir against his chest, their optics onlining slowly. _I have to feed them,_ he thought, suddenly even more exhausted. He had to be a good genitor, take good care of them, keep them safe._

_Yes, he had to . . ._

_Had to . . ._

_He slumped into Ratchet's arms, pitching offline._

_-o-_

_When Night Stalker awakened, he was exactly where he didn't want to be: in a hospital. He bolted upright, a gasp of fear escaping his lips. "My sparklings! Where are my sparklings?"_

_Ratchet and Wheeljack were talking quietly in the room's corner, and they both turned to him. "Right by you," Ratchet said, pointing to the small recharge chamber by Night Stalker's berth._

_Following Ratchet's indication, Night Stalker saw a clear-walled box. Inside, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were curled up side-by-side, hugging each other. Tiny feeding lines were attached to them. "Are they okay? Where am I?" He glanced down at his wrists, seeing that feeding lines were attached to him, too._

_"They're fine. And you're in Iacon Army Hospital." Ratchet walked over and sat on the berth's edge. "Power Run stopped by and identified you, although he couldn't stay. He asked us to tell you that he'd be back to see you."_

_"Oh. Thanks." Night Stalker frowned to himself, wishing he could have seen a friendly face. It occurred to him that if he'd just trusted Power Run and gone with the Autobots in the first place, Maverick might still be alive. The thought made him nauseated._

_Wheeljack nodded as he joined them. "Yeah. And don't worry. You'll be safe here. There are guards posted outside your door, and the CMO, Rivet, is overseeing your case personally."_

_"He's locked all three of your records," Ratchet said. "The PSF won't be able to access them through any external networks."_

_Night Stalker only relaxed marginally. "Considering they're chasing me, that's some small comfort."_

_"You're being well taken care of." A tall, silver mech swept into the room. He glanced over Ratchet and Wheeljack, then jerked his head toward the door. "You're dismissed."_

_Ratchet stood. "Yes, sir."_

_"Get well," Wheeljack said as they left._

_"Thank you for your help," Night Stalker called after them, hoping he would still be able to say that in a few joors. He returned his attention to the new mech. "And you are?"_

_"Rivet, CMO." The tall, silver mech sat in the chair by his bed and pulled out a datapad. "So you feel that the PSF is chasing you?"_

_Night Stalker considered it a foregone conclusion. "Yes." He wondered how much knowledge the CMO was privy to and decided it was probably enough. "I was one of the mechs in the illegal experiment they were running. Did you talk to Power Run?" He gestured at his sparklings. "If the PSF gets their hands on my twins, they'll run tests on them until they kill them, too."_

_Rivet nodded. "Yes, I've been going over what information we've been able to cull about their experiments. Grisly stuff there. Imagine my shock to find you and your sparklings admitted to my hospital." He paused. "So, I must ask. Power Run indicated that your brother, Maverick, was the sparklings' carrier and you were the sparker." His tone was remarkably neutral given the words he was speaking. "Is this correct?"_

_Night Stalker stared at his twins, his gaze hovering on their tiny bodies. "Yeah." He wondered if Rivet considered them sick and twisted or if he knew about twins' need to recalibrate their sparks. Power Run had seemed to accept it, at least._

_"Where is your twin?"_

_Flinching, Night Stalker dropped his gaze to Rivet's chest, staring at the Autobot emblem there. "Maverick's . . . dead." It felt so strange to say those words._

_Rivet's shoulders jerked back. "Dead? For how long now?"_

_"Eight orns." Night Stalker knew Rivet was doing the math. Based on previous records, he only had two orns to live maximum. With fuel back in his system, Night Stalker's previous confusion and indecisiveness were swept away. He wanted to live. He _had_ to live. His sparklings needed him._

_Rivet nodded slowly, his face grim. "That explains why you're so weak." He paused. "I'm sorry to inform you that your spark energy is only at 32 percent, and even after four joors of feeding you energon intra-linearly, your overall energy level is still only 41 percent."_

_"I'm dying." Night Stalker had meant to be blunt and no-nonsense, but his words still came out as a tiny whisper._

_"Yes, I'm afraid so." Rivet grew quiet, a look of concentration crossing his face, and after a few kliks, he focused on Night Stalker again. "I've contacted Sentinel Prime. Given that a number of PSF mechs are unaccounted for, your assessment of your danger is probably accurate. We're going to have to take immediate action if we want to protect your sparklings."_

_A chill ran through Night Stalker's circuits as panic began to stir deep in his tanks. He glanced at his sparklings, who were still curled up recharging together. They looked so sweet, so innocent. "Immediate action?" His engine whined with stress. "What do you mean by that?"_

_"That is up to Prime." Rivet turned to the twins, checking the monitor attached to their recharge chamber. "Your sparklings are doing quite well. You must have expended a great deal of effort to keep them so well-fueled."_

_"Of course." Night Stalker couldn't imagine an alternative._

_An awkward silence fell between them and reigned for several kliks until a tall, broad figure stepped up to the doorway, imposing in his size. "Is this our survivor?"_

_Rivet stood and saluted the new mech, who waved at him to stand down. "Yes, sir. Sentinel, this is Night Stalker." He glanced to Night Stalker. "Night Stalker, meet Sentinel Prime."_

_Night Stalker immediately felt suspicious. "Nice to meet you, sir," he lied._

_Sentinel walked up to his berthside, towering over him. "Rivet has explained the situation to me. I'm sorry to hear about your brother's death." He paused. "Our primary concern at the moment is to keep your sparklings safe from the rogue PSF mechs we haven't caught yet."_

_"Haven't caught . . . how many have you not captured?" Night Stalker tensed, not liking the sound of it._

_Crossing his arms, Sentinel stared down at him, apparently trying to decide whether to answer his question. "Well, so far we've only arrested eleven of the twenty three we're after. In short, your concern for your well-being and that of your sparklings is well-placed. It would seem several agents escaped with their files or supplies. Apparently, they felt they were near breakthrough despite the deaths of most of their subjects. We fear they intend to attempt to finish the project, and that would make you and your sparklings prime research material."_

_"_Primus._" The world seemed to sharpen in focus; the lights glared too bright. It was everything Night Stalker had feared._

_Sentinel continued as though he hadn't spoken. "A quick check by my Chief of Security told me that you stopped at Electrus Memorial Hospital, where your sparklings were born. The chief resident there reported that a team of PSF mechs stopped there an orn after you left and asked about you. It's safe to say you're being followed."_

_"I'm not surprised." Night Stalker crossed his arms over his abdomen, terrified and panicking. His doorwings trembled on his back as his spark began to pulse too quickly. It wouldn't take them long to catch up with him, and the CAF tended to underestimate just how well-trained and powerful the PSF teams were. "Two guards won't get the job done, sir."_

_"Which is why we must act now and get your sparklings underground to safety." Sentinel put his huge hand on the twins' recharge chamber. "I must be blunt with you. You don't have long to live, and Rivet tells me you're too weak to ever leave the hospital. You must release custody of your sparklings to us immediately so we can hide them."_

"What?"_ Night Stalker's shriek rang through the small room. His indignation burnt his lines, making his circuits tingle. They couldn't take away Sunstreaker and Sideswipe! They were all he had left. "My brother dies, I lose my entire life and livelihood, and now you want to take my sparklings away from me?"_

_Sentinel shook his head. "It's not about taking or not taking. It's about saving your sparklings' lives."_

_Rivet held up one hand as though to silence Prime, then stepped up to Night Stalker's side. "Look," he said quietly. "We have an adoptive creator lined up who is an accomplished warrior. He can keep them safe. Also, he's been looking to either adopt a sparkling or be granted one from Vector Sigma for a vorn now. The process is long and grueling, which has only made him want a sparkling more."_

_"So you're going to steal mine to give to him?" Night Stalker pressed clenched his fists against the berth. "I knew it! I _knew_ it. The CAF is no better than the PSF!"_

_Rivet sighed and leaned his hip against the berthside, holding out one hand in an imploring fashion. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying he'll love your sparklings, truly treat them as his own and cherish them. Please release them into this mech's protective custody and let him save them."_

_"I'm not giving them up!" Night Stalker's shrieks of anger had awakened his twins, making them cry. Their wails rent the air, thickening the tension that shrouded the room and suffocated them._

_Wordlessly, Rivet reached into the recharge chamber and began rubbing Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's backs, trying to calm them._

_"You're going to die," Sentinel said flatly. "You have maybe two orns left. You're going to have to be an adult and choose what's best for your sparklings' futures."_

_If he'd had even a fraction of his strength, Night Stalker would have used circuit su to execute a fatal strike upon Sentinel. "Easy for you to say! You're not the one who's getting his sparklings ripped away from him! My creator is dead, my brother is dead, I'm apparently dead — don't I get to have anything, anything at all?" Tears of coolant sprang to his optics, the sobs tearing free of him. "No! It's not fair. Fragging Primus, Mav barely got to even meet his sparklings." He buried his face in his hands. "No, you can't take them. You can't. Wait until I'm dead. Please. Just . . . give me some time. I don't care how little it is."_

_"I'm sorry," Rivet said. "Life has been abnormally cruel to you. I wish we could grant your request, I really do, and under any other circumstances, we would. But your sparklings are in mortal danger. According to Power Run's intel, this had turned into a power, glory, and wealth issue for several of the PSF agents. If we can't catch them, those rogue agents aren't just going to toss away all their research. They're going to want to finish the project at pretty much any cost."_

_Night Stalker's wails joined his twins', and he doubled over, raising his legs to collapse himself into a ball. "Primus . . . _Primus_ . . ."_

_"We'll give you a moment with them," Sentinel said. "But you need to make the right choice here."_

_A deep, long shudder shook Night Stalker's body. He wanted to scream at them, deny them, throw them out of his room. He never, ever wanted to be separated from his sparklings, even if it meant living his entire life without Maverick. Unfortunately, he also couldn't ignore the truth of what they said. The PSF would never stop trying to get Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, especially if Night Stalker actually _did_ live. And even if he died, Night Stalker understood how determined the PSF was. _I hate this,_ he thought. _I can't do this.

I don't think you have much of a choice,_ a voice seemed to reply deep within him. _Our twins must live. Safe.

_Night Stalker dropped his hands, shocked. What was that voice? He stared up at Rivet and Sentinel, assessing the mechs as well as he could. His instincts told him they weren't lying about the danger and necessity. "I need a moment with them first." His voice sounded utterly flat and dead. He felt dead._

_"Good choice," Sentinel said, heading toward the door. He paused briefly, glancing over his shoulder. "You're a brave youngling."_

Frag you,_ Night Stalker thought. He glared at the mech's back until he was out of sight then met Rivet's gaze. "Would you hand them to me?"_

_Rivet nodded solemnly and opened the recharge chamber, picking up Sunstreaker and handing him to Night Stalker. Night Stalker carefully cradled him in his right arm, brushing his fingertips over his face and gently hushing his cries. He ruthlessly beat back his pain and sent love over their fledgling creator-creation bond, and Sunstreaker quieted and pressed against his chest, one tiny fist tucked under his chin._

_Night Stalker pressed a kiss to his forehelm. "I love you," he whispered. "Please live. Please be safe." He glanced up at Rivet. "This one's designation is Sunstreaker. I want that honored."_

_"I'll tell the adoptive creator." Rivet picked up Sideswipe and rocked him faintly. "Would you like them both at once?"_

_"Yes." Night Stalker held out his free arm._

_Cautiously, lest he drop him, Rivet placed Sideswipe in Night Stalker's left arm. "And this one?"_

_"His designation is Sideswipe." Night Stalker frowned. "Make sure the adopter agrees."_

_"Very well, I'll do that now," Rivet murmured, turning to leave the room. "I'll give you a few kliks."_

_Pressing kisses to Sideswipe's forehelm and face, Night Stalker pushed love over their bond as well, calming his crying sparkling. Sideswipe curled into his chest, pressing against him. Gasping in agony, Night Stalker felt as though his spark were being crushed. The weight pressed on his shoulders, smashed down his doorwings, and shattered his tanks. Could he really do this? Did he really have a choice? Panic shot through his wires, surging through his circuits, and painful pricks stabbed his lines, his terror swelling until his entire frame shook and burned._

_"Oh Primus, _no_ . . ." He gasped again, the sound gritty and harsh, and couldn't stop his sobs. He hugged his sparklings close, raining kisses on their tiny faces, and his tears splattered against their plating. Obviously sensing his anguish, they began crying as well. _I can't do this! I can't

_Sentinel and Rivet slipped back into the room. "You're torturing yourself," Rivet said softly. "Don't draw it out; you'll only make it worse." He gently pulled Sunstreaker from Night Stalker's grasp. "I swear on Primus that the adopter is a good mech and will get them to safety immediately. He'll guard them with his life."_

_Night Stalker grasped Sideswipe to him, holding on to him desperately and kissing the top of his helm. "No . . . _no_ . . ." However, knowing he had no other real choice, he didn't fight Sentinel when he pulled Sideswipe from his arms._

_"I'm sorry," Sentinel said, looking away._

_Staring after them, Night Stalker watched them go, trying to see his sparklings until they were out of sight. After that, he strained to hear their cries until they were too far away. Then, crushed to the point of death, he folded in on himself, wailing out his agony. The guards had shut his door, so he let himself scream, feeling a ripping sensation in his spark. He could sense his twins' terror over their bond, but he couldn't comfort them._

_He would never be able to comfort them again.  
_

oOoOo

Returning to consciousness slowly, Prowl stared at the dingy grey ceiling of a cargo hold. The deep hum of a hyperlight drive rang in his audios, and he surmised he was on Flattop. He turned his head slowly, worried about the twins, and found them bound and offline on the floor beside him. _Just as I figured,_ he thought, frowning. _They've abducted all three of us._ He opened his comm. link to a wide frequency and broadcasted a short code over it. Unless the PSF had detected and removed the virus Jazz had put in Flattop, the code would online a tracking signal that the _Ark_ could detect.

Sighing, Prowl tried to assess his damage. His HUD wasn't giving him any specific warning messages, but his doorwings felt stiff and his neck and arm sore. He realized he was also bound, his hands and feet restrained with stasis cuffs. Searching his subspace, he realized that his tool kit was gone, and without it he couldn't pick the lock. He cursed, irritated with the situation, but after a little effort he managed to sit up. At least he had some range of motion left.

Resigning himself to the problem for the moment, Prowl scooted over to his twins, sitting between them and stretching out his legs in front of himself. Then he carefully pulled each of their helms into his lap, checking each for signs of damage. He was worried for them, _needed_ to touch them, had to feel their warm plating under his hands. Although he intended to remove them from his lap when they began to awaken, for now he needed to keep them close.

Finding no external damage, Prowl simply rested against the wall and stroked their faces gently. For ten million stellar cycles, he'd pretended they weren't beloved, weren't special. He'd pretended to be nothing more than a CO, a stranger, a disciplinarian. And for what? Everything he'd feared had come to pass. He had failed. Utterly failed.

In response to his stress, his processor began overheating and coolant sprang to his optics. One tear escaped, streaking down his cheek and falling onto Sunstreaker's forehelm. Prowl brushed it away, but in his distraction he didn't notice Sideswipe slowly onlining.

"Prowl?" came a rough voice, Sideswipe's normal smooth tones absent. He seemed dazed.

Completely caught, Prowl paused, his hand hovering midair above Sunstreaker's face. No doubt Sideswipe would find his affection freakish and inexplicable. How could he even begin to explain? He knew he didn't have a choice, and furthermore, he didn't want a choice. He was tired of swallowing the truth. But how should he handle this? Tell them everything all at once and overwhelm them? Give them one piece at a time and let them digest it slowly? He was going to be rearranging their entire universe. No, the revelations could wait. They needed to create an escape plan.

Lost in thought, Prowl simply gazed at Sideswipe, and at his look of confusion, Prowl reached out without thinking and stroked his cheek.

Sideswipe's optics surged bright, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Prowl?"

Prowl dropped his hand. "What warnings or error messages are you getting in your HUD?" he asked, concerned.

"None except a low fuel warning." Sideswipe tried to move and only then seemed to realize he was bound. He struggled for a moment, then paused. "It says my systems were overridden and reset, though. What happened? Where are we?"

_At least he's not hurt,_ Prowl thought, turning his gaze to Sunstreaker as he stirred and onlined. After a moment's hesitation, Prowl cupped his cheek, unwilling to give them unequal amounts of his love. "Are you getting any warnings or error messages?" He gently rubbed Sunstreaker's cheekseam with his thumb.

Sunstreaker stared up at him, looking equally dazed as his brother and also surprised. He seemed to gather himself slowly. "Just a low fuel warning." Just as he had before, he pressed into Prowl's touch, although he looked away as he did so. "What the frag happened to us?"

"It's definitely Road Hugger's fault," Sideswipe said, grimacing. "He did something to us."

Prowl nodded and transferred his hand back to Sideswipe briefly, stroking his cheek. "That's right. We're on Flattop."

"Flattop?" With a frown, Sunstreaker struggled to sit up, and looking down, he seemed to realize the problem. "Ah, slag."

Prowl wondered if after all these millennia he could still open his creator-creation bond with them. It had been dormant for so long he feared not. "We've been abducted and are probably on our way to Cybertron." The only comfort he had was that no matter how upset Optimus and Jazz might be, they would move the universe to rescue the twins and him. "Just as I suspected, they intend to finish their experiment."

"_Finish?_ What's going on?" After considerable squirming, Sideswipe managed to sit up and face Prowl. "Primus! We gotta get these stasis cuffs off."

With a low growl, Sunstreaker managed to sit up as well, glaring at his restraints.

"I'd pick the locks if I could, but they took all my supplies." Prowl sighed and frowned. "I was trying to prove this would happen. I was trying to get enough evidence to prove that they meant to finish their experiment on twins."

"Twins?" Clearing not liking this news, Sunstreaker glared at him. "So why are you here?"

Prowl's smile was sad. How to explain this part? Perhaps one piece at a time was the best approach. "I was a twin."

Shocked silence filled the room, then Sideswipe gasped sharply. "_What?_"

"'Was?'" Sunstreaker echoed, staring at Prowl.

"Maverick was killed," Prowl said, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

Sideswipe leaned forward. "Killed? How did you survive? I thought if one twin died . . ." He paused, sounding uncomfortable. "I thought the other always died, too."

Prowl sighed. "That's what this is all about. Ten millennia ago, the Praxus Special Forces conducted an unethical medical experiment on twins in which they tried to alter sparks to the point that one twin could survive the other's death. Their goal was to market it to all bonded couples, but something went wrong. All the participants were killed, including Maverick."

"Except you." Sideswipe frowned. "But I don't get it. How does that connect with now?"

"These mechs are all ex-PSF, and they intend to finish the experiment using us." Prowl shook his head, feeling completely defeated. Millennia of secrets and deprivations for nothing. "After all, from their point of view, the experiment succeeded. I'm still here. They obviously figured out who I am, and now they're going to use us as their final research subjects."

Sunstreaker jerked his feet up to yank on his leg restraints. "I don't fraggin' think so. Let's bust out and kick their afts."

Prowl glanced at the cargo hold's door then scanned the room, trying to figure out what he could short-circuit. "We _do_ need a plan." He turned back to them, pitching his voice to its most soothing tone. "But please don't worry. I promise we will get through this. We'll work together and escape." Seeing no reason to continue hiding his feelings, he reached up, cupping each of their cheeks gently and stroking them with his thumbs. "I swear I won't let you be tortured or killed the way the past twins were."

Leaning into his touch again, Sunstreaker glanced away, silent. Sideswipe, however, reached up and put his hand over Prowl's. "We know," Sideswipe said, a faint smile gracing his lips briefly. Then he grew grim. "So where do we start?"

Prowl lowered his hands. "I have a theory that we're being taken to Darkmount based on some intel Mirage gathered about Shockwave."

"In that case, we need to find weapons," Sunstreaker said, looking around the room.

Frowning, Sideswipe seemed momentarily distracted. "You've lived all this time without your brother? I can't even imagine that! That's the worst thing I can think of."

Sunstreaker glanced at his brother, sharing that frown, then returned to his scan of the cargo hold. "There are crates in the corner. Maybe we can find something in them." He attempted, unsuccessfully, to stand.

"Good idea," Prowl said, noting the crates as well. _If we can get over there._

"Wait." Ignoring his brother, Sideswipe's optics flared, his stare growing intense. "Kup said something once about our carrier being killed. Was he in that experiment, then?"

Prowl wondered if he should go ahead and explain, but he wasn't sure if they knew their genitors were brothers. "Yes, that's right." Before he could say more, however, the door to the cargo hold slid open, revealing Blackjack and Detour.

Sunstreaker cursed, his gaze still pinned on the crates.

"Well, look here," Detour said, crossing his arms. "Our little research subjects are awake."

Blackjack's grin was maniacal. "It's time for you to be of service to the Cybertronian race. Or, at least, the Decepticon half of it." He laughed.

Realizing his theory had been correct, Prowl didn't like what this revelation did for their odds of surviving.

oOoOo

_"What?"_

Optimus Prime's exclamation echoed through the command deck. He stared at the footage the _Ark's_ security monitors had captured: Prowl being dragged off the battlefield by Detour and Blackjack. Prowl, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe had all been reported MIA, as well as all six of the planet-side ex-PSF mechs. Flattop was also missing from orbit. Thanks to the chaos of battle, Red Alert had had to scan a ton of footage to find out when they'd been taken, but it didn't take a supercomputer to figure out what had happened.

Optimus' spark froze and crystallized in terror inside his spark chamber. In an instant, all Prime's hurt over Prowl seeing Jazz and Detour behind his back was kicked down to the least of his concerns. It wasn't that the pain ceased to exist, only that Prime's need to rescue Prowl superseded it. When compared to Prowl's life being in danger, Prime's pain was utterly meaningless. Instantly, Optimus knew he would do whatever it took to bring Prowl and the twins home safely. He would do that for any of his mechs, but in this case someone he loved was specifically in danger. He would toss the sun out of its orbit if he had to.

A moment's silence descended upon the deck, then from the back of the room a second bellow joined Prime's: "_What?_ Ah, frag no!" Jazz raced across the deck and stopped in front of the monitor where the image of Prowl being captured was paused onscreen. "Slaggit!"

"We have to figure out where they're headed." Optimus mentally reviewed everything Prowl had told him, trying to get a handle on their intel. "Unfortunately, I think we already know _why_ they've been taken."

"Slaggit!" Jazz whirled around, whacking his back against Teletraan's console and leaning against it. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor. "We should've listened to him."

In retrospect, Optimus realized he had never known Prowl to be so passionate, intense, and obsessed with anything and turn out to be wrong about it. While Prowl had been emotionally compromised, he had also been _right._ "Those files he was decoding. Maybe something in them can help us." He turned to Jazz. "Take Blaster and Perceptor and get those files from Prowl's office." He glanced to Blaster. "Use Teletraan to finish breaking the encryption on the files. And hurry it."

"Yes, sir!" Blaster headed for the door, Perceptor on his heels.

Before Jazz could step away from the console, Teletraan beeped and spoke. "Receiving a tracking signal."

Jazz stopped, whirling around. "Show us!"

Optimus joined him at Teletraan, which displayed a galactic map. "The signal is originating from the alpha quadrant," Prime said, analyzing the data. "It's between Earth and Cybertron's current position." He had to admit that was suspicious given the situation, and his tanks sank as he realized Prowl's theory on Shockwave may have been correct as well. _I should've listened more closely._

"Wait a klik." Jazz snapped his fingers. "I planted a virus in Flattop on Prowl's orders. It may have been a program to launch a trackin' signal."

Optimus nodded, knowing that had to be right. "Prowl would think that many steps ahead and prepare." He glanced at Jazz. "Go. We still need as much information as we can get."

"Yes, sir." Jazz joined Blaster and Perceptor, heading for Prowl's office.

Bluestreak rushed up to Optimus, Smokescreen close behind. "Can we go with the rescue squad, sir, please because even though we have emotional investment in this they are our lovers and we want to help rescue them if you'll allow it."

In this situation, Optimus didn't feel right denying the request. "Yes, you may. Gather the necessary supplies." He turned to Hound and Mirage. "Help them. We'll be following in Omega." He then shifted his attention to Hoist and Ratchet. "Prepare your supplies. You'll be going with us."

A chorus of "yes, sir" met his orders as mechs ran off the command deck. He opened his comm. link. ::Optimus Prime to Omega Supreme. Return to the _Ark_ immediately. We have a rescue mission to conduct.::

::Acknowledged. Omega returns.:: The link went dead.

Optimus moved to the tactical terminal, pulling up screens and working up a tentative plan; however, he was only halfway done when the tracking signal died. _Slaggit,_ he thought, irritated and trying not to panic. _They detected the signal and cut if off._ Still, the signal's direction clearly indicated Cybertron, and Optimus' plan wouldn't be changed by the loss. Besides, he had to stay active, had to feel like he was getting somewhere.

Once his plan was drafted, though, Optimus couldn't control his thoughts. He retired to his office so he could secretly pace the floor. He needed to launch the rescue. If he didn't get the report in the next half-breem, they'd leave without it. Blaster could finish it while they were in-flight.

However, alone in his office, Optimus was faced with the truth of his desperation, guilt, and love. As hurt and confused as he still felt, Optimus knew that if he could just wrap Prowl in his arms then everything would be all right somehow. The thought tortured him. What if he could never hold Prowl again? His body burned with the need to do so, his chest aching for the feel of Prowl's head resting against him and his arms aching for the feel of Prowl's warm plating. He wanted to see Prowl's small smile, hear his quiet laugh, and touch those graceful doorwings.

He felt the deeply violent urge to rend the ex-PSF mechs' limbs off and rip their armor from their bodies if they _dared_ to hurt Prowl.

And that was when it hit him: he would do anything to secure Prowl's return, but once he'd done so, he might have to make the ultimate sacrifice. If he truly loved Prowl — and Optimus knew that he did — then he had to let Prowl choose whoever made him happier. And as much as it stung to think Jazz might be the one to make Prowl happier, Optimus had to stand back and let Prowl make that decision. He wanted to say 'choose me,' and had said it, but that had meant he was looking after himself first, not Prowl.

Optimus sank into his office chair, his shoulders slumping. "Understandable," he tried to tell himself as the guilt battered him. He was only mortal, after all, and he loved Prowl and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. However, he couldn't forgive himself. He knew love sometimes meant stepping back, and in this case it could very well mean watching Prowl and Jazz live blissfully together orn after orn.

The idea whipped up an electrical storm of agony in his circuits. "This will not be easy," he admitted to himself.

But being Prime was never easy and was often lonely.

oOoOo

Sitting at one of the Teletraan terminals in the science lab, Jazz poured all his effort into helping Perceptor and Blaster break the code on the encrypted files. Knowing Prime, the rescue squad would be leaving as soon as the supplies could be gathered and the plan drafted, and Jazz wanted the files' contents before they left. Blaster and Perceptor worked together at one terminal while Jazz worked alone. Not counting Prowl, they were the best code-breakers the Autobots had, so surely they would succeed.

Still, as he worked, Jazz became distracted. He couldn't stop thinking about Prowl and what had happened. Because he'd been so upset at being cheated on, he'd let his entire outlook on the situation get skewed. While Prowl likely _was_ emotionally compromised, he'd also run a legitimate analysis, but Jazz had been too angry to see that. It was disturbing and humbling to realize he'd let his personal life impinge upon his work duties, and he wanted to slap himself for his lack of professionalism. It might very well cost him everything he loved.

Although his pain wasn't magically erased, at that moment all Jazz wanted was to be wrapped in Prowl's arms again, to feel his warm plating and hear his spark pulse. Instead, the last moment they'd shared together had been one of strife. Jazz had often counseled mechs to not worry about the last thing they'd said to their loved ones before they died. 'It doesn't matter if the last thing you did was fight,' he'd told them. 'They knew that you loved them.' How ironic it was that faced with the same situation, he couldn't be so calm. He wasn't sure Prowl _did_ know how much he loved him. He had, after all, completely frozen Prowl out for the last few orns.

_I just want him back,_ Jazz thought, forcing himself to focus on the code. His concentration only lasted a few astroseconds. _Frag, even if it means seeing Prowl settle down with Optimus, it doesn't matter. I just want him safely home._

Jazz's thought drew him up short, and he stopped to assess the truth of it. Imagining Prowl with Optimus _hurt._ Jazz wanted to be easily, freely selfless and say that when Prowl returned he'd graciously step back and let him choose who he wanted to be with. However, even though Jazz could force himself to respect Prowl's wishes, he knew that if Prowl chose Optimus, he would be crushed. Still, Jazz couldn't imagine a universe without Prowl, didn't want to imagine one. Somehow, someway, he had to make peace with Prowl's choice.

His spark cried out. _Primus, I hope he chooses me!_ Was there something he could do to make himself more appealing to Prowl?

"Stop," Jazz ordered himself. If he loved Prowl, he had to wish him happiness, and all that mattered was getting Prowl back home safely. If he could see Prowl safe, alive, and happy, nothing else really mattered.

"Got it!" Blaster yelled, jerking Jazz from his thoughts.

Jazz turned to him anxiously. "Ya do?"

"I'm good, man." Blaster smirked at his terminal. "It'll take about two kliks to convert."

Jumping up, Jazz ran over to stand behind Blaster and watch the text pop up on screen, although he didn't bother to read it. ::Jazz to Prime,:: he said, opening his comm. link.

::Prime here.:: The answering voice was tense, even impatient.

Jazz understood that feeling. ::The code's broken. We'll have it in a klik.::

::Hurry. Meet us at the main entrance. Prime out.::

Perceptor grabbed a datapad and onlined it in preparation for a download. "This is fascinating," he said, reading the screen. "It seems that Night Stalker and Maverick were twins, and Maverick was carrying sparklings when they went AWOL. Oh, my! They were only younglings. Oh dear, oh dear. Younglings shouldn't carry sparklings! It's far too dangerous. Their sparks aren't strong enough." He shook his head. "Ah. Maverick died, apparently, because it says that his corpse was recovered at Kaon, and Night — "

"_Sparklings?_" Jazz's systems seemed to stutter and freeze. "As in _twins?_ Does it say what their designations are?"

"There are no designations recorded for the sparklings," Perceptor said, never looking away from the screen. "The records don't mention the sparklings' fate, either."

Jazz shook his head, his processor trying to keep up. "No way, man. No way!" His processor tried to piece it all together. "Prime said that Prowl reported being in the study, remember? And Prowl told me he was getting _his_ service record. Plus in our meeting Prowl was talking about Witness Protection and the experiment not working as they intended." Finally, it was all beginning to make sense.

Blaster's shocked gaze traveled to Jazz, his optics bright. "So you're saying Prowl is Night Stalker? I guess the two designations are similar. No, wait. That can't be right. If one twin dies, the other always does too, right? Didn't Ratchet say all the twins in the study died?"

Perceptor glanced at them. "But according to what Prowl said, the point of the study was to enable one twin to live if the other died."

Jazz snapped his fingers. "And Ratchet asked what happened to Prowl's twin, but his answer got cut off. Primus!" Suddenly, Prowl's concern over the Sunstreaker and Sideswipe took on a whole new possible meaning. "No wonder Prowl was fighting so hard to protect the twins!" He crossed his arms over his abdomen, feeling ill. He knew he was making an intuitive leap, but the facts fit together too conveniently. "If Night Stalker lived and is Prowl, then it may be that Sunny and Sides are his nephews."

"It means a great deal more than that." Perceptor frowned, looking grim. "It means the ex-PSF agents have learned their experiment _works._ I suspect this means they want to recreate it by studying Prowl and then experimenting on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe." He pressed a button on the datapad. "The conversion and download are complete."

Jazz snatched the datapad from his hand. "And that means that Prowl himself has got a deviation. They'll wanna dissect him or somethin'! We gotta go!"

He raced from the room, heading toward the entrance. As soon as he saw Optimus, he called out to him. "Prime! We gotta problem. Prowl's in more danger than we even guessed."

Prime's already tense frame seemed to constrict. "Primus! Let's go, then. You can tell me the details during the flight." He gestured to the assembled mechs. "Jazz, you'll be leading a team consisting of Smokescreen, Mirage, Ratchet, and Brawn. I'll lead the second team." He gestured to his mechs: Bluestreak, Hound, Hoist, and Ironhide. Everyone was either bouncing on his feet or checking nervously over his supplies, clearly anxious to depart.

"Got ya, sir." Jazz followed Optimus to Omega Supreme, the others following.

"We'd best hurry. We've been fools," Optimus commented quietly to Jazz as they stepped inside Omega.

Jazz had to agree.

* * *

_Postscript: Rivet is actually my OC and may briefly appear off and on in various pre-war stories of mine._

_The theme song for Night and Mav in this chapter is "My Immortal," by Evanescence. Watch it here at http : / www .youtube. com / watch? v=jGKRXhmFQlw (remove the spaces)._

_I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears.  
And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave.  
Your presence still lingers here, and it won't leave me alone . . ._

_You used to captivate me by your resonating light;  
Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind.  
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams;  
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me . . ._

_These wounds won't seem to heal; this pain is just too real.  
There's just too much that time cannot erase._

_When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears;  
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears.  
And I held your hand through all of these years,  
But you still have all of me._

_— "My Immortal," Evanescence_


	9. Remember that You Must Live

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! As always, I greatly appreciate the feedback from my "anonymous" reviewers Christina, Poiuni, and Phoebe Turner, as well as Ruby650._

_The concept of the old-style mechs comes from primarily from "The Key to Vector Sigma" but also a bit from "Desertion of the Dinobots I & II" as well._

_One scene is a gift for Asher119!_

_

* * *

_

_**Chapter 9: Memento Vivere  
**__**or Remember that You Must Live**_

When Prowl onlined, he stared up at the ceiling, realizing he was no longer on Flattop, and groaned as the ache in his helm told him _how_ he'd been transferred from Flattop thanks to their attempt to escape. He hated being shot with a stun gun, especially when his helm was targeted. His processor seemed to ring, and for a moment, his vision was blurry. If he'd taken one hit, he could only imagine that the twins had been shot two or three times before they'd gone down, and he worried that they would have trouble onlining.

Whisper leaned over him, disrupting the sight of the purplish-grey ceiling. "Welcome to Darkmount, I12."

Prowl smirked at him. "You'll understand if I don't say thank you, M4."

"M1, now." Whisper returned the smirk. "And it's far past time to finish this experiment, eh?"

Prowl wanted to rip the slagger's head off, but as soon as he tried to move, he realized he was still bound. He looked down at the medberth he was lying on and found thick metal bars restraining his upper, mid, and lower chest, as well as his arms, hips, and legs. A quick glance around the room revealed Sunstreaker and Sideswipe unconscious and trapped on medberths across from him, and Prowl tried to determine if they were otherwise unharmed.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," Whisper said, adding enough lilt into his voice to make it singsong. "You're going to stay put like a good sparky and let me finish analyzing you so I can figure out how you survived Maverick's death. And then I'm going to replicate the experiment on your sparklings."

Returning his attention to Whisper, Prowl glared. "You mean you're going to _kill_ one of them to see if the other will live?" A surge of rage mixed with terror erupted from his spark and burnt through his circuits. For a moment, he could hardly get any air through his vents, and his doorwings trembled against the medberth.

"Well, not right away." Whisper punched a button on the wall, and a thin piece of metal extended over Prowl's medberth. Several blue lights came on, and Prowl realized it was some kind of spark scanner. "Let's get a good look, shall we?" Whisper opened the main panel on Prowl's chest and triggered the override to open his spark chamber. "Well! I've never seen a spark this color before. Fascinating!"

Refusing to comment, Prowl remained quiet, accessing his battle computer and trying to work out an escape. The scan didn't hurt, after all, and his own health was the least of his concerns anyway. No doubt Whisper would begin the test on the twins using chemicals, which were painful enough. But _death_? No way was Prowl allowing that to happen.

Whisper watched the screen by the berth as the machine worked. "Interesting. The physical apparatus of your laser core looks perfectly normal in a scan." He glanced at Prowl. "To the optic, though, something is clearly different. I would have remembered if your spark was silver before, so it must have been blue. Did it turn silver after Maverick died?"

Although he saw no positive or negative to answering, Prowl ignored him. _Of course it was blue before, idiot._

Pulling a hand scanner from his subspace, Whisper examined his spark further. "Hm. The spark itself has a higher temperature than usual but nothing too extreme. Density's slightly altered also. Still, it's nothing to cause a medic any alarm." He nodded. "I think I know where I want to begin, then."

_Oh, yay,_ Prowl thought, irritated. He stared at his restraints as Whisper moved to the counter in the back of the medbay. Prowl could hear him pulling out beakers and pouring or stirring liquids, but he tried not to focus on what that portended. Instead he pondered what it would take to get free of his restraints and what path they would take to escape the building. Since he had a recently stolen blueprint of Darkmount, Prowl temporarily focused most of his attention on the escape route.

After several kliks, low groan pulled both Prowl's and Whisper's attention to the twins as they onlined.

"Oh, look!" Whisper crossed the room to them, grinning maniacally. "The sparklings are awake."

Apparently Sunstreaker had managed to clear his cache and focus. "Don't call me a sparkling, you fragger!" He pulled against his restraints and growled.

Whisper chuckled. "Oh, a temper, eh? You remind me of Maverick in that sense." He glanced at Sideswipe. "Although after only a few orns on the _Ark_, I figured out that you're the one who inherited Maverick's penchant for pranks. I can't tell you how many times that little fragger messed up my medbay."

"What the slag are you babbling about?" Sideswipe jerked against his restraints as well, pushing and squirming to get free.

Whisper smirked. "You don't know, do you? Well, I should tell you, eh?"

"Don't," Prowl hissed, desperate and horrified. _Not this way! Any way but this way._

"Tell us what?" Sunstreaker growled, glaring at Whisper.

Whisper moved to hover over him. "The reason we want to study you. I assume Prowl's told you that we're studying twins and why, but our desire to use you isn't just that you're twins." He turned and grinned maliciously at Prowl. "It's because we figured out our experiment already works. It succeeded on your sparker. I'm very much hoping that you two have inherited the necessary spark deviation. After all, your sparks formed from affected sparks late in the experiment."

A stunned silence fell upon the room as the twins' optics surged bright. Prowl knew then that all hope might be lost. This was exactly what he hadn't wanted: a sudden revelation, an overwhelming shock, a lack of context. Would Sunstreaker and Sideswipe even listen when he tried to explain the full truth later? "Damn you to the Pit," he snarled at Whisper.

Whisper laughed. "Oh, come now. They deserve to understand, don't they?"

"Prowl?" Sideswipe asked, his voice low and shaky.

"I can explain," Prowl replied, grim. "Please don't — "

Whisper interrupted him. "What is there to explain?" He looked between the twins. "Your genitors were younglings, but agents of ours nonetheless. Despite being brothers, they apparently fragged each other because Night Stalker here — "

Prowl flinched, horrified that their one mistake would be referred to so crassly. Maverick had been attempting to be comforting, and the spark sharing itself had been necessary. However, he wasn't sure even his twins would be able to accept the former part.

"You're lying!" Sideswipe yelled, straining at the steel bands holding him down.

Whisper just smiled and continued without pausing. " — that's Prowl's real designation, by the way — sparked Maverick. Maverick died shortly after you were separated — "

Sunstreaker growled. "Liar! You're just trying to frag with us!"

Again, Whisper ignored the interruption. "And the CAF reported that Night Stalker died a decaorn after that. Imagine our surprise when we realized good ol' Night Stalker is alive and well!"

Sunstreaker began fighting his bonds. "Fragger! _Fragger!_"

"It didn't happen that way," Sideswipe insisted, his voice strained.

"Sure it did." Whisper waved his arms through the air. "Thankfully. Makes our decision to finish Project Bond all the easier." He shook his head. "Primus, if we'd known that, we would've finished the experiment ten millennia ago. Our initial attempt to find you two was thwarted, but if we'd pressed the issue, we would have succeeded."

Suddenly silent and still, the twins stared at Whisper, their optics still too bright and their mouths pressed into tense frowns. Prowl felt panic prickle its way through his spark, stinging his lines as it shot through his body. _What if they never forgive me? What if they hate me forever?_ A scream erupted from deep in his soul, and he gasped faintly with the pain.

A beep drew Whisper's attention to his equipment. "Ah, the right temperature as been achieved. Let's do a little test, shall we?" His step showed a distinct bounce as he headed for the beakers.

Prowl's fear immediately warped into processor-numbing worry. He remembered all too well what those chemicals did. _Primus, no!_ This was everything he'd worked so hard to save his sparklings from.

Sideswipe watched Whisper as he moved, his optics narrowing. "You slagger! We're mechs, you know. Not lab droids."

"Like I care." Whisper poured some of the mixture into a test tube and grabbed a dropper. When he turned back around he gestured at his Autobot symbol with the dropper. "You see this emblem? It's a lie. I got sick of the Autobots' whining about rights-this and rights-that a long time ago. All their laws and restrictions . . . It was stupid." He crossed the floor and stopped by Sunstreaker. "If you really want to advance, if you really want a breakthrough, risks have to be taken. For an accomplishment of this magnitude, some deaths are unavoidable. But what are two deaths, or ten or twenty, in the face of ten million saved lives? And that's just the projection for one generation of Decepticons!" He swooped his arms outward, gesturing at an unseeable expanse. "Imagine how many lives can be saved over the course of three generations, six generations, a hundred generations." He stared down at Sunstreaker. "Even if I kill you today, in the grand scheme of all time, it's an acceptable loss. Or will you argue that your life is worth more than the ten million bondmates who can be saved in your lifetime?"

Sunstreaker's optics were dim, his jaw clenching as he flexed his fists. "And what gives you the right to decide what a life is worth?" He sneered. "Besides, you dumb fragger, you missed the most important part: my permission. If I choose to sacrifice myself, then it's just that — my _choice._ You never even gave me the slagging option."

Whisper snorted. "As if you would do this willingly, especially for Decepticons. Everyone lives to preserve his own life. That's just a mech's nature. Besides, this is about more to me than saving Decepticon lives." He triggered open Sunstreaker's chest plates. "I won't lie. This will burn. In fact, none of it will be pleasant, so just deal with it." As soon as Sunstreaker's spark chamber was open, he used the dropper to put six drops on his spark.

Sunstreaker tried to jerk away, but it was useless. A sizzling sound filled the air, then he hissed in pain.

Sideswipe strained against his bonds again. "Sunny!"

"Sunstreaker!" Prowl yelled, jerking on his restraints as well and feeling near tears. The unfairness, the cruelty, and the fear were more than he could take. It was like reliving one of the worst orns of his life except unspeakably worse because this time it was his _sparkling_ being hurt.

Gasping suddenly, Sideswipe collapsed against the medberth. Prowl flinched, realizing that Sunstreaker's pain had shot over the bond to his brother.

"Oh, a nice strong bond," Whisper said. "This might take awhile, then. I have to ensure you've got the deviation, and if you don't, I'll have to recreate the deviation your sparker has. Too bad. I was hoping to at least be able to promise one of you a quick death." He laughed and walked off.

Prowl offlined his optics, begging Primus for help and praying Optimus and Jazz weren't too far behind Flattop. If he couldn't get free, then _someone_ had to save his sparklings. He couldn't stand to see them tortured and killed.

oOoOo

Staring at the purplish-grey ceiling, Sunstreaker fought hard to keep his face expressionless. Granted, Whisper was too busy analyzing his first set of readings to notice his facial expression, but Sunstreaker didn't want Prowl to see it, either. His spark burned and surged in his chest, shooting sharp pains down his arms until they trembled and twitched. It wasn't the chemicals Whisper had put on his spark that caused the agony, though. No, that pain he could handle. What hurt was learning Prowl was his sparker.

Sunstreaker wasn't wanted.

Prowl and he had served together for five million stellar cycles, ever since Sideswipe and he had left basic training, and in all that time, Prowl had said nothing. This was his worst nightmare: Sunstreaker had always feared he was unwanted. He'd stared into the mirror every morning, looking at his paint, his face, his audiofins, and tried to figure out why he'd failed to capture his genitors' sparks. No matter how much he cleaned, waxed, or painted, the mirror couldn't give him an answer. No matter how many times he scored an excellent or perfect in his training exercises, Sunstreaker couldn't erase the feeling that he was failing. For the longest time, he'd assumed his lovers were lying to him when they claimed to love him; until Bluestreak, who was irresistibly guileless and sincere, Sunstreaker had only been able to tolerate the temporary lovers who were blatantly dating him for his looks or his 'facing skills. Only Bluestreak had taken the time to look past his façade and love the real mech inside.

But to _know_ as fact he wasn't wanted, to look upon his genitor and know he wasn't loved . . . no pain gouged deeper.

_::You seem so sure,::_ Sideswipe whispered over their bond. Granted, his brother was an eternal optimist, but Sunstreaker still heard the fear and desperation in his mental voice.

_::I _am_ sure,::_ he shot back, growling audibly. He glared in his brother's direction. _::He's been with us all this fragging time and said nothing. If anything, he thinks we're total slagging pests.::_

_::Don't say that!::_ Sideswipe's mental tone sounded sharp, afraid. His optics surged bright. _::He . . . he was being nice and all to us. He was even affectionate.::_

As though to spite him, Sunstreaker's memory files played back unbidden: Prowl cupping his cheek, smiling at him. It was so incongruous. _::I have no fragging idea what that was about. But let's face it. One or two nice actions don't wipe out millennia of nothing.::_

Sideswipe flinched and looked away, not replying.

Ignoring him, Sunstreaker returned to staring at the ceiling. Why? Why did it have to turn out like this? To be tossed aside as sparklings was bad enough, but at least Kup had loved them. Yet now they had to look into the face of their CO and _know_ they were substandard, subpar, and cast aside? Wasn't watching their friends die in this fragging war bad enough without adding that? _Primus must hate us,_ he thought, his lip curling.

_::There has to be another explanation!::_ Sideswipe's desperate voice returned to him. _::He could have transferred us to another base, but we've always been stationed with him. That has to mean something.::_

Sunstreaker could tell Sideswipe was trying to convince himself. Part of him wanted to believe those words, and his traitorous spark begged him to believe it. Even with this pain, he still desperately wanted to be special to Prowl, to be the one he looked upon with love. He nearly laughed at himself. _::Then why is Bluestreak the only one he loves?::_

_::Shut up!::_ Sideswipe grew silent again.

Sunstreaker understood his brother's anger, but truth was truth. Prowl's actions and words spoke for themselves; there was no other possible motivation or explanation. They'd best force themselves to accept that.

A wave of nausea rolled through Sunstreaker's tanks, interrupting his thoughts. _Great. Now I'm getting sick, too._ He glanced down at his chest, wondering what the chemicals were doing to him. Would he die quickly? Slowly? Mutate into something freakish first?

Freakish . . .

_::I wonder if they didn't want us because we were a mistake,::_ Sunstreaker said, glancing at his twin. _::I mean, they were brothers.::_ Rage punctured his mental tone. _::Maybe they considered terminating us or something, but the PSF wouldn't let them.::_ He would have never guessed they were the product of incest. Was that what was 'wrong' with him? Everyone always said something was 'wrong' with him, said he was a sociopath whether it was true or not. Was the problem at the sparkcode level? Perhaps they were right and he was a freak.

_::No._ Sideswipe stared pointedly at the ceiling, not looking his way. His mental voice had grown flat and mulish. _::Prowl said his brother was killed by the PSF, and that aft said Prowl was our sparker.::_ Anger began to sharpen his tone again. _::Think about it. How did we end up with Kup? Why didn't the PSF kill us with their experiment? Someone had to intervene, and the only someone that could be is Prowl. He had to have saved us. Why the frag would he do that if he didn't care and considered us a mistake?::_

Sunstreaker watched his twin silently, taking in the tense, set jaw and narrowed, bright optics. He wanted to argue with him, take out his frustration on him. He wanted to pick a fight, have an outright yelling match and then throw some punches. Bound to a medberth as he was, though, he knew that wasn't going to happen. However, the content of what Sideswipe had said pulled him up short. Despite the fact Sideswipe was trying to convince himself, there was some logic to the observations. _::Oh, I see. You're saying that what went wrong happened after the fact? He had to give us up, but when he met us as adults, he decided we came out bad?::_ He smirked, unable to dismiss his rage.

_::That's exactly what I'm saying,::_ Sideswipe spat back, turning his helm toward the far wall. _::We're disappointments.::_

Sunstreaker's face stung just as surely as he'd been slapped. No longer interested in picking a fight with his brother, he grew quiet and sullen. _That's even worse,_ he thought to himself, disgusted.

A second wave of nausea slammed through his tanks, making him inhale sharply. He was getting sicker, and he couldn't tell if it were only physical or partly emotional. He had to bust out of this place. Had to.

He wasn't going to die this way, and neither was Sideswipe.

oOoOo

_Joining Rivet behind the one-way glass, Power Run watched the youngling inside the force-shielded cell. Night Stalker was staring at the mural he'd drawn on the wall with the supplies Rivet had agreed to give him. "What's wrong with him? He seems normal enough to me."_

_"Keep watching." Rivet shook his head. "For a long time, I didn't know what to make of it."_

_Power Run crossed his arms, his optics narrowing. His friend's doorwings were held high, pert, and he was sitting on the floor cross-legged, looking perfectly alert._

_"I think it looks good," Night Stalker suddenly said, then paused. "Yes, the perspective is fine."_

_"Huh?" Power Run wondered who he thought he was talking to._

_Night Stalker shook his head. "Don't be so picky. Just be glad they gave you paint at all." He paused again. "What? You think so? Why?" He glanced toward the one-way mirror._

_Confused, Power Run noted the way Night Stalker's doorwings lowered and flared wider. A smirk curled up one corner of his mouth, and he canted his head, his optics flaring. Within astroseconds, his entire demeanor and body language had shifted._

_Night Stalker hopped to his feet gracefully, prowling across the floor like a turbopanter. "We know you're there." Even his voice had changed, dropping in pitch. "Whether we wanted to or not, we've survived." The final words came out in a hiss. "So _give back our sparklings._" He stopped right in front of the mirror, leaning toward it. "And let us out of this stupid cell. We're not insane. Not that we expect you to have enough intelligence or ethics to figure that out or care. You probably don't even have the intelligence of a bolt bat."_

_"What the frag?" Power Run dropped his arms in shock. "It's like he became Maverick! And what's with the 'we' and 'us'?"_

_Rivet snorted. "Well, obviously we decided he had gone insane. But the mere fact he's survived his twin's death was enough to make us run spark tests."_

_Night Stalker suddenly straightened, his face smoothing out and his doorwings perking up again. He folded his hands behind his back and glanced off to the side. "That's not helping," he murmured to himself._

_Rivet leaned closer to Power Run. "I've decided the calm one is Night Stalker and the aggressive one is Maverick."_

_"What?" Power Run wasn't sure he'd heard right. "What are you saying?"_

_Rivet met his gaze. "I'm saying that the reason Night Stalker lived is because Maverick didn't pass on into the Matrix. Maverick's spark is with his twin's. Their sparks are sharing a single laser core."_

_For a moment, Power Run thought his circuits would fry. "Are you _serious_?" He stared at the calm youngling who seemed to stare through the glass directly at him. "Oh, Primus. What will that do to him?"_

_"Well, I can't go into the details with you." Rivet smiled and shrugged. "But you can see why I called for Witness Protection. Despite his bizarre behavior, I can't deny now that he's perfectly sane and in good health, so I have no reason to keep him." He canted his head. "I'm surprised they sent you, though."_

_Power Run shrugged. "My undercover role is finished, and Sentinel Prime felt I'd be the best mech to know how to protect the various witnesses. I agreed."_

_"Ah." Rivet gestured at Night Stalker. "Well, just so you know, he won't calm down. He repeatedly demands to have his sparklings back, and he spends most of his orns yelling or crying for them."_

_"Poor Night," Power Run muttered to himself. "He must be living in the Pit." It seemed sick, horrible, and unfair that Night Stalker had to give up his sparklings — or, rather, Night Stalker and Maverick. On top of that, Night Stalker had lost and then regained Maverick in a bizarre fashion. No doubt they were in horrible pain and feeling confused and lost. Power Run couldn't imagine a lower Pit. In his empathy, he wished he could ease some of their agony, but he knew perfectly well that the CAF still hadn't caught all the rogue PSF agents. In fact, one of the officers they'd arrested had managed to break out and escape, and now they were chasing him across the quadrant, trying to catch him._

_The ugly truth hit Power Run in the spark. "If the rogue PSF agents find out Night Stalker has lived, his sparklings are doomed."_

_Rivet nodded. "Sadly, yes. As you well know, this is what their experiment was trying to accomplish in a sense. Based on PSF's notes, I know they didn't expect it to work in this way, but somehow I doubt they would care how it works, only that it does. They probably hope that their sparklings will have inherited the spark deviation and collect what remains of their still-considerable resources to hunt them down." He crossed his arms and gave Power Run a frown. "And as much as I'd love to say that we've stopped the problem with our raid and arrests, I'm just not that naïve."_

_Power Run couldn't deny the logic. "You're right." He sighed out his vents, deeply saddened. "All right. Let me in. We need to get going; my transport shuttle is waiting on us."_

_-o-_

_Night Stalker stared at the glass, trying to keep his conversation with his twin as internal as possible. Maverick's little outbursts were no doubt hurting their cause, not helping it. Everyone already thought they were insane, after all._

::They ran those tests on us,::_ Maverick argued from inside him. _::And our laser core keeps running hot. They have to pump us full of coolant every orn; surely they realize something is up. I know they're fragging idiots, but they can't be that stupid.::

::Don't count on it,::_ Night Stalker replied, feeling depressed and hopeless._

_Unfortunately, at first Rivet and the other medics, and even Night Stalker himself had all been convinced he was losing his processor. Between his crazy behavior and the threat to his life, he'd been transferred to a high-security, force-shielded cell in the psych ward. For several orns afterward, everything had been a blur. Night Stalker had lain in the corner of the cell, his arms wrapped around his abdomen, inexplicably hearing Maverick's voice in his spark and processor. He kept having flashes of anger or depression that seemed to come from nowhere, often interrupting his current mood or feelings. His anxiety would be interrupted with rage or his wrath by depression. Then, and perhaps most telling of all, he'd suddenly, deeply needed to _paint._ Paint out his sadness, anger, and fear in grandiose swaths over the only canvas available to him: the wall. Rivet and the head psychologist had discussed his request for paints and a canvas, then granted it in the name of art therapy. Night Stalker had used the canvas and immediately turned to the wall. That, of course, answered Night Stalker's unasked question. He wasn't insane._

_He wasn't just _him_ anymore._

_Maverick had been the artist between them. As sparklings, Maverick had painted while Night Stalker wrote poetry. After joining the PSF, they hadn't had time to do much of either, but all the pictures in their quarters had been done by Maverick._

_Realizing he wasn't actually alone, Night Stalker began talking to Maverick instead of just listening to the other voice yell, complain, or lament. Maverick instantly made his desires known: since they obviously weren't going to die, he wanted their sparklings back._

_Night Stalker doubted they could actually get their twins back, but he wanted them as much as Maverick. Although Maverick's persistent optimism made him insist they could keep their sparklings safe, Night Stalker wasn't convinced they were strong enough or cunning enough to keep them out of the PSF's hands. Still, that didn't cancel his desperate need to see them again. He wanted to hold their tiny, warm bodies in his arms, see their little fists curled up, and hear their soft chirps of joy. He could imagine those bright blue optics meeting his, gazing up at him with quiet love, and feeling that same love over their fledging bond. The thought of living a lifetime without that connection made his entire frame burn and his spark sting._

_The door suddenly slid open, and a familiar black, white, and yellow mech stepped inside. "Hello." Power Run smiled, but it was laced with sadness. "May I ask who I'm speaking to? Are you currently Night Stalker or Maverick?"_

_Night Stalker found the acknowledgement interesting. _So they do understand what's happened._ "Night Stalker."_

_"Rivet tells me that you and Maverick have been asking for your sparklings to be returned to you." Power Run walked up to him and squeezed his shoulders gently. His doorwings perked high on his back, betraying his stress._

_"Well, we are going to live," Night Stalker said, using Maverick's argument and wondering where the conversation was headed._

_Power Run nodded and glanced down, dropping his hands from Night Stalker's shoulders. "I only have the faintest idea of what you must feel." He paused, frowning. "Frankly, I'm not entirety sure what to say here." He looked back up. "I know you want your sparklings back, but you know all too well who your enemies are. We put them with a great mech, and to be blunt, I doubt Sentinel Prime will agree to it since you're an orphaned youngling. Especially since there's so much danger involved here."_

_Night Stalker stared at him dumbly for a moment, so shocked he couldn't speak. _Sentinel Prime again, huh? That fragging bastard!_ He couldn't quite collect his emotions, and then suddenly he was watching the scene from the end of a tunnel, detached, as Maverick took control of their body._

_Maverick stepped up into Power Run's face. "Primus, are they okay? Have you seen them yourself? Are they refueling enough? Recharging well enough? Is the PSF showing any signs of knowing where they are? I mean, if they find out Night's alive, they will turn the planet upside-down to get to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker!"_

_Leaning back, Power Run seemed surprised by the onslaught. Then, apparently realizing what had happened, he relaxed. "We have them off at another base, one with topnotch security, and no one other than Rivet, Sentinel Prime, the adopter, and me even knows they're split-spark twins."_

_"Oh." Maverick wasn't sure how to feel. All he knew was what he wanted._

::I want our sparklings back as much as you do,::_ Night Stalker whispered within him. _But the Prime seems to have made up his mind about this, so we'd be dodging the CAF and the PSF both. I'm with you, bro, but if we're going to do this, we have to be sure of success because we're gambling with our sparklings' lives.::

_Maverick dropped his face into his hands, fighting off tears. His entire soul ached with the desperate need to hold his sparklings again. He could still faintly feel them in his spark, and he agonized over their pain, sadness, and confusion. _::Primus! This is too hard.::

_Strong, warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. Holding him close, Power Run rubbed between his doorwings with one hand and murmured to him. "I'm so sorry, Mav. So very sorry. No youngling should ever have to face something like this. No one should, period."_

_He let Power Run hug him, and against his will, he sobbed on his shoulder. Apparently unbothered, Power Run held him and rubbed his canopy until he'd calmed down. Once he'd plunged back into the numbness that sustained him in moments like these, Maverick receded, running away from full, exterior consciousness._

_When Night Stalker could feel his body again, he stepped back. "Thank you, Run. Mav and I feel like you would make sure a good mech is protecting our twins." Not that such an assurance made him happy or at peace with the situation; it was simply the best he could hope for._

_"I swear on my spark and by Primus himself that they're in good hands." Power Run reached out and took Night Stalker's hand, pulling him toward the door. "And now I need to take care of you, too."_

_"Where are we going?" Night followed him out into the hallway, glancing around to see if anyone would try to stop them. However, no one else was even in sight._

_Power Run gave him a small smile. "You're going into Witness Protection. There's a shuttle ready and waiting to take you to Kaon, which will be your new home for now. In short, you're going to have a whole new life, and I'm going to be handling your case."_

_Night Stalker wasn't sure how to feel about that, but he at least felt grateful that his friend was overseeing the process. He allowed Power Run to escort him to the shuttle, feeling intensely relieved to finally leave the hospital. Once they were safely boarded and seated, Power Run pulled a datapad from his subspace._

_"Shall we get started?" Power Run tapped the screen a few times. "There are lots of decisions for you to make here, and we want you to be as safe as possible."_

_Not feeling particularly excited about such news, Night Stalker simply listened._

_Power Run consulted his datapad. "You might be pleased to learn that we've decided to prematurely upgrade you into an adult. Our engineers and medics have decided that since you have two sparks powering your laser core, you're more than strong enough to be upgraded. Besides, upgrading you will help in the creation of your new identity."_

_Night Stalker didn't feel like an adult, but he did feel like he'd aged significantly in a short time. He felt _old_. "Fine. Whatever."_

_"Would you like to remain in the military?" Power Run glanced up and met his gaze. "Sentinel Prime has cleared us to admit you directly to the Autobot Academy based on your previous service record and rank in the PSF. We would build you new records and create the necessary education, history, and experiences to justify your admission."_

_Night Stalker hesitated, stopping to consult with Maverick. _::What do you think?::

::Sure. I still want to be an officer, and I really can't imagine doing anything else. I mean, really. What would we do as a civilian? Be a starving artist?::

_Night Stalker could sense Maverick's mental snort. He returned his attention to Power Run. "Sure."_

_"Excellent! Maybe we'll even serve together again some orn." Power Run's smile was genuine. "And thanks to your exceptional amount of spark energy, our engineers can design you a highly advanced battle computer. It'll be quite an upgrade compared to what you currently have."_

_Night Stalker shrugged. "Okay. That's cool, I guess." He supposed that with a battle computer that fancy, there were lots of different things he could specialize in._

_"You'll need to think up a new designation," Power Run continued, typing in a few notes to his datapad. "And new paint colors."_

_Night Stalker glanced at his black and red frame. _::Maybe we can combine our colors in some way. We could use the red from my paint and the blue from yours.::

::Or the white from my paint and the black from yours,::_ Maverick replied. _::Let me think about that. I'll work up a design for us. As for the designation, I think we should pick something that reflects your personality.::

::You sure about that?::_ Night Stalker frowned. _::You mean pick something similar to Night Stalker?::

::Yeah. Like just Stalker. Or maybe Nighthawk or Steel Shadow or something.::

_Night Stalker shuddered. _::No, thanks._ He pondered the problem for a moment, wondering if he could work in part of their sparklings' designations. _How about Sideshadow? No, that's dumb. Okay, Shadowstreaker? No, no. Besides, I guess that might be dangerous.::_ He sighed, frowning. _::Nighthawk's not too bad. Or how about Shadow Stalker? Or maybe something simpler, like Prowl?::

::Yeah, that works! Use Prowl.::

_Night Stalker nodded to himself and met Power Run's gaze. "We'd like to be called Prowl."_

_Power Run nodded, typing in the information and then smiling at him again. "Well, hello, Prowl. Welcome to the Autobot Army."  
_

oOoOo

Lying utterly still, Prowl feigned recharge, sending his systems into their most silent mode for added effect. It was the oldest, most overused trick in the datapad, but there was a reason for that. Not only did it make Whisper more open in his status updates to Blackjack, but it also might buy him a chance for escape. In addition, it was even believable that he would be unconscious after the new battery of tests Whisper had run on him. As best he could tell, the twins were genuinely recharging, Sunstreaker having become exhausted from his pain and Sideswipe likely with him. However, it was possible they were faking, too.

Prowl tried not to worry about what the twins were thinking and feeling, but it was hard. Were they angry because he didn't tell them the truth? Too shocked to believe it? Disgusted to learn they were the product of incest? Horrified to hear any of it? He couldn't begin to guess, and it terrified him. Although he desperately wished to explain himself, he feared he wouldn't get the chance or it wouldn't make a difference. More than anything, he wanted to grab them both and hug them tightly, but he couldn't imagine that they'd accept the gesture.

A beep interrupted his dour thoughts, and he heard Whisper answer his comm. link. ::Whisper here.::

Prowl could barely hear the other voice, which he identified as Blackjack's. ::Report! Shockwave's getting impatient.::

_Impatient? With what?_ Prowl didn't like the sound of that. _What if my theory about Shockwave's treason was accurate?_

::I can't magically produce results in just a few astroseconds!:: Whisper sighed. ::Tell him I found something interesting. I ran every analysis I could think of on Prowl's spark, even a spectrographic one, then I double- and triple-checked to be sure.::

::And?:: came the irritated reply.

A pause. ::He's not Night Stalker.::

::_What?_::

Prowl fought off the urge to react. _So he's figured it out._

Whisper snickered. ::He's both Night Stalker _and_ Maverick. There are two sparks powering his laser core. It was extraordinarily difficult to determine, but in retrospect, it explains the changes in the spark's color, temperature, and density.::

A longer pause. ::What does this mean for us?::

Prowl held back a smirk. _It means it doesn't work the way you'd hoped._

::Not much.:: Whisper sounded flippant. ::It makes sense, really. Our other subjects died because we were trying to weaken and alter the bond. Night Stalker and Maverick obviously did something that strengthened theirs again, but the alteration was already in effect.::

For a moment, Prowl couldn't seem to process anything. _Did something? Like all that spark merging we did to try to save Mav's life?_

Whisper continued. ::The basic truth about split-spark twins remains, though: we really _can't_ alter the bond enough that one can live without the other. Apparently we simply created a different option: instead of one dying and their both going to the Matrix, one can die and they both remain here on the material plane. Or, more simply put, they can merge back together permanently while alive.::

The shock pushed through Prowl's lines like an ice flow. _Is that what they did to us? Primus!_ It was times like these that he wished Night Stalker and Maverick could still speak to each other normally; however, the medics had stolen that from them. In these moments, when Prowl most needed the comfort and presence of another, he was effectively alone.

::That _doesn't_ sound promising,:: Blackjack growled over the comm.

::Oh, it will still work. Or it should.:: Again, Whisper's tone was flippant. ::It'll be up to Shockwave to decide whether to reveal how it works.::

_Fraggers,_ Prowl thought, furious. _They have no idea just what it really means!_

::Fine. I'm sending down Hyperdrive to get Prowl. Blackjack out.::

_And there's my opening,_ Prowl thought. He had recharged for real earlier, ensuring he kept his energy up, and he knew that the twins had been refueled to keep them strong for the tests. Now they just needed to work together. If Prowl could use his comm. link and talk to them, he could set up a plan; however, all their comm. links had been disabled. _I guess I'll have to get this started alone._ He began gathering his spark energy, preparing to utilize circuit cu.

A few kliks later, a growling Hyperdrive entered the medbay, his footsteps clanking heavily on the floor. Since he kept his optics off, Prowl couldn't see him, but he would recognize the sounds anywhere.

"Why, hello there Hyperdrive!" Whisper called cheerily.

A deep, grumbling growl.

"Yes, I'm having a wonderful orn. You?" A pause and a laugh. "Oh, don't get so irritable. Take Prowl there to the disciplinary barracks. And don't kill or harm him! I may need to run more tests later."

_Here we go,_ Prowl thought, remaining still. He could feel the metal bonds being retracted, then rough hands grabbed him, jerking him to his feet.

"Up!" Hyperdrive snapped.

In an instant, it was over. Prowl snapped on his optics, slamming his elbow backward into Hyperdrive's nose and knocking his grip loose. Whirling around, Prowl punched him in the face, emptying his pent-up energy in a blinding flash of light. Hyperdrive flew backwards, hitting the floor with a choked-off yowl and falling offline. Whisper grabbed inside his subspace, but Prowl ran two steps forward, throwing himself into a forward roll as Whisper retrieved his rifle and fired it. The shot flew harmlessly over his head. With his momentum, Prowl sprang back to his feet at an angle and pushed Whisper's rifle up. With his other hand, he punched Whisper in the face, once again hurdling his spark energy down his arm and through his fist. Without even a cry, Whisper flew back into the wall, smacking it and toppling to the floor like discarded parts.

"Prowl?" Sideswipe's voice was faint and uncertain.

Prowl dashed to his twins, noting they were both online and staring at him in shock. "Let's go! Someone probably heard that shot. We're not going to have a lot of time." He pushed the release buttons on Sideswipe's berth, braced his hand on his leg, and jumped over the table. "Are you all right?" he asked Sunstreaker as he released him.

"Frag, no." Sunstreaker sat up, grimacing, and pressed his hand to his chest. "But I can still fight." He refused to meet Prowl's gaze.

_Slaggit._ Prowl couldn't count all the ways he was upset, but he didn't have time to act on it. "Sideswipe?" He glanced at his other son.

Sideswipe was gazing at him with the most bewildered, hurt, pained expression he'd ever seen. "I'm good to go."

Hyperdrive, who was apparently built to take a lot of punishment, onlined and sat up. Before he could even pull his weapon from subspace, Sunstreaker had rushed him and kicked him in the head.

"Stay down, fragger!" He stomped his helm for good measure.

Prowl realized that, given the twins' pain and anguish, their escape would be wrought with excessive violence. "Get their weapons."

Sideswipe had already headed toward Whisper, and he grabbed his rifle. However, after Sunstreaker pulled Hyperdrive's rifle from his subspace, he threw it to Prowl. "Won't need it." He flexed his hands, his optics narrow and surging white.

"Got it." Prowl wasn't about to argue. "I have a map of Darkmount on file. We're heading down two levels and exiting from the side entrance. Let's go."

Both twins nodded. Prowl set out, checking the hall to ensure it was clear first. Strangely, the entire level seemed deserted, and he had to wonder where all the mechs had been sent. It wasn't a good sign given Mirage's earlier intel.

Having no other method of going down a level, since the ladder in the elevator shaft was only used if the elevator was nonfunctional, they piled into the lift. The twins sank out of line-of-sight on one side, Sideswipe in front with his rifle, and Prowl on the other. When the doors opened, they listened and heard nothing, then Prowl peeked around the corner. Two Seekers stood frozen in the hallway, staring their way with deep suspicion. Prowl reacted immediately, shooting the one on his right, and Sideswipe followed suit, shooting the one on the left.

Muffled shouts erupted behind the nearest door.

"Hurry. And watch your backs." Prowl ran down the hallway, the twins following closely, as the base's alarm sounded.

Five Decepticons dashed into the hallway behind them. Sideswipe subspaced his rifle, and both twins launched themselves at their attackers, tearing into them. Stationing himself at the end of the hallway, his back protected, Prowl leveled his rifle, picking off the mech furthest from the twins. However, there wasn't much else he could do. Sideswipe pummeled his first opponent, landing vicious blows to his face and abdomen, then grabbed him and bodily hurled him into his second opponent, sending both crashing to the floor. He immediately pounced on them, punching with both fists.

Sunstreaker delivered a roundhouse kick to his primary attacker's helm, crashing him face-first into the wall, and grabbed the second one, hurtling him over his shoulder and body-slamming him into the floor. Jumping on him, Sunstreaker pinned him and grabbed his arm, literally ripping it off. The mech shrieked, but Sunstreaker slugged him in the jaw, knocking him offline. He then spun on one knee, swinging up the detached arm like a club and smashing the other attacker in the head as he approached again. Purple, processed energon splattered in a wide arc across the floor, wall, and ceiling from the arm's severed lines.

_They're angry,_ Prowl deduced.

When the violent assault didn't end, Prowl stood and took on his most commanding tone. "Stop! They're dead or offline. Save your energy for the next hundred."

The reality of the situation seemed to impress itself upon the twins. Sideswipe stood, giving his opponents a final kick, and Sunstreaker threw down the makeshift club with a snarl.

Jabbing his thumb toward the nearest door, Prowl tried to keep them focused on their objective. "The exit's this way."

-o-

Kneeling beside Prowl at Darkmount's parameter wall, Sideswipe tried to keep his attention on the task at hand. They had managed to escape into the launch pad section of the base, and although they had left a trail of bodies behind them at first, for the last two breems, they'd dodged guards instead. They needed more stealth to slip away, and Sideswipe attempted to focus on that. However, he was suffering from information overload: Prowl was his sparker. No, it wasn't just that, if the conversation he'd overheard was to be believed: Prowl was not only his sparker but also his carrier. In fact, Prowl wasn't a _him_ at all, he was a _they_.

Sideswipe thought his processor might melt down. He couldn't even keep up with his own thoughts. _Is he really both our sparker and carrier? Is Sunny right? Did he not want us? Is he disappointed in me? Primus!_

Sinking down beside him, Sunstreaker thumped him on the shoulder. "Stop thinking so loud!" he hissed, clearly upset and in pain.

The physical agony seeping through the bond from Sunstreaker gave Sideswipe a second handicap. Whatever Whisper had done with the chemicals, it was making Sunstreaker nauseated and nearly crippling him with pain. As a result, it was torturing Sideswipe as well, only to a lesser degree. "Sorry," he whispered. "You okay?"

Sunstreaker glared at him. "What do you think?"

Prowl glanced back at them. "We need to get on that transport as soon as the sentries pass." He kept his voice low and pointed to the nearest truck. "As best I can tell, it's not sentient, and the guards have already searched it."

Sideswipe glanced around the area, noting there weren't many sentries and they didn't seem too concerned. "Aren't they supposed to be on alert?"

"I don't believe they think we'll try this route," Prowl whispered. "Our trail, when we dropped it, indicated we were headed to the east entrance. Besides, I'm sure they think a measly three Autobots are an easy catch."

Sunstreaker snorted. "After two missing arms, one missing leg, and three missing helms? They're not too bright."

Grimacing, Sideswipe kept his thoughts to himself. He had whaled on everyone he'd met, too, trying to exorcise his anguish, fear, and rage over being abducted, having his brother tortured, and learning the truth about his genitors. However, his twin had taken it too far for even his liking. Half of Sunstreaker's paint was hidden by dried energon.

Prowl actually smirked. "Not too bright, indeed. Shockwave's sentinels are ancient models — so ancient I'm not sure some of them can even transform. Given their predictable reactions to our attack strategies, they clearly have subpar processors. Let's just say Primus is answering my prayer."

Unable to argue that point, Sideswipe found himself forced to agree. Some of the 'bots were models he'd only previously seen in historical files. However, he found himself focusing more on how Prowl talked rather than what he was saying. It was like Prowl was a stranger. The crimson chevron, the pert doorwings, the crisp black-and-white paint all seemed to belong to someone else. This mech who'd only ever been their CO, SIC and disciplinarian, was suddenly their genitor, and now everything about him seemed odd. _Are you really my sparker? _And_ my carrier?_ he wanted to ask. The words refused to come.

Prowl nodded toward the transport. "It's clear. Let's go."

Crouching low, they raced across the expanse, opening the truck's trailer door and hopping inside. With a quick glance to ensure they hadn't been seen, Sideswipe closed the door behind them and turned to face the others. To his surprise, half a load of energon was in the back.

"What's this?" Sunstreaker whispered, glowering at the glowing pink cubes. "I thought Cybertron was low on energy."

Prowl frowned, looking deeply disturbed. "It may have something to do with that ship." Despite the fact they couldn't see it now, he pointed in the general direction of the one and only ship in dock: a massive near-replica of the _Nemesis._

Sideswipe decided it couldn't be good news. "Shockwave's up to something big."

Nodding, Prowl started to continue, but the truck lurched forward. They remained quiet, not daring to talk for a solid breem, although they did steal an energon cube a piece. Only when the truck slowed and the sounds of drunken laughter and music filled the air did Prowl finally speak.

"Sounds like we're well into the city." Prowl went to the door. "Let's go." He opened it, and they all jumped, hitting the metal street and rolling with the impact.

Sideswipe stood immediately, scanning the area, but no one was paying them much attention. A few drunken mechs were pointing at them and laughing, but they were collapsed on the sidewalk and clearly not interested in getting up. Past that, most of the windows in the nearby buildings were dark save for the club right beside them. A gaudy neon sign flashed in the shape of energon cubes, and the air vibrated with a thumping bass line.

"Welcome to Polyhex," Sunstreaker sneered, only to gasp and clutch at his chest.

Running to his brother's side, Sideswipe tried to put his arm around him and support him. He was worried, very deeply worried, about his brother's condition. However, Sunstreaker shoved him away.

"I'm fine," he growled, not meeting Sideswipe's gaze.

Sideswipe flinched and dropped his arm, stepping away. He hated times like these the most. If Sideswipe were hurt, Sunstreaker would be at his side in an instant, protecting him and helping him. Gruffly, perhaps, and with mock insults or ruthless teasing, but he'd be there. When Sideswipe tried to return the care, he was inevitably pushed away. He shrank in on himself, feeling hurt and rejected. _He's just angry at the situation,_ he tried to tell himself. It didn't help.

After studying the buildings, Prowl turned to them. "They'll figure out we escaped and assume it was to the east. They'll send out several platoons, probably two to the eastern side and one to the west to be safe. It will take a while for them to hone in on our position, though. Some of these buildings are abandoned, so we need to find a good spot to hole up and rest temporarily. Then we'll need to move on."

"Rest is good," Sideswipe noted quietly. Sunstreaker didn't reply.

Prowl nodded and headed down an alleyway, cautiously checking any obstructions they came upon.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker followed, and knowing he should remain quiet, Sideswipe tried their bond. _::Sunny?::_

_::I don't want to talk about it.::_ Anger riddled his voice.

_::I feel like I'm going to explode,::_ Sideswipe said anyway. The confusion, fear, and pain seemed to press on his spark, the phrases 'not wanted' and 'may be a disappointment' echoing in his processor.

Sunstreaker ignored him.

They wound through three streets and four alleys before Prowl stopped by an abandoned tenet house. He stared up at the forty-story building with its shattered windows, rusted siding, and creaking beams, and the strangest, saddest smile flitted across his lips. "It'll do," he said, gesturing at the side door.

Once inside, they climbed the emergency stairs to the third floor, where Prowl picked the corner apartment. Distantly, they could hear disembodied laughter, wailing, and the faintest echo of music; clearly a few mechs used the place as their home despite its being condemned. Sideswipe found the sounds to be depressing, almost like he were flitting on the outside of life — ruined life.

Prowl walked across the living area's dusty floor, dodging toppled energon cubes, rusted spare parts, and a broken datapad, and glanced out the corner windows. "We have a decent view from here. I'll be able to see the sentinels from several megamiles away."

Leaning against the far wall, Sunstreaker gasped and clutched his chest again. The pain shot over their bond, making Sideswipe gasp as well. He went to his brother's side but didn't dare touch him.

Sunstreaker glared at Prowl. "What the frag was all that about? _You_ are our sparker? And somehow also our carrier, too?" His voice climbed steadily, his legs shaking as he fought to stay on his feet. "And you never told us? All this time, and you just pretended to be our CO! You slagging — "

"Sunny!" Watching Prowl flinch and his doorwings hike high on his back, Sideswipe felt his tanks turn. He hated this situation, everything about it, but the yelling just made it worse. "I'm just as upset as you are, but — "

"But what?" Sunstreaker bellowed, optics flaring white. "He obviously doesn't — " He doubled over suddenly, grasping at his chest plates with both hands.

Prowl's voice was low, quiet, flat. "You need to spark merge."

Jerking toward him, Sideswipe stared. "What did you say?" In his shock, his voice was thready, whispery. Prowl hadn't really said what he thought he'd said, had he?

"Your sparks are probably badly out of calibration," Prowl continued, his gaze slipping away from them. He stared at the broken datapad. "We . . . Night and Mav . . . we had to recalibrate often during the experiment. It helped with the pain and illness. Plus, based on what I overheard Whisper saying, I think our repeated merges near . . . the end . . . are what changed our fate."

Although he was panting harshly from his pain, Sunstreaker managed to straighten enough to look at Prowl. "You're saying that it's normal?"

Prowl nodded slowly.

Stunned, Sideswipe simply gaped at him. _Normal? Our need to share sparks really is normal? Primus! No wonder he didn't react when he walked in on us._ A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders, and he glanced at his brother, suddenly desperate to share sparks with him and have the reassurance of his presence. His spark burned with the need. "We should try."

Inhaling air slowly through his vents, Sunstreaker nodded. "In the back."

Understanding what he meant, Sideswipe ran his arm under his brother's, supporting him. With careful steps, he led them through a series of interconnecting berthrooms — the apartment was designed in an ancient style without hallways — until they reached the one in the very back. Since the berth was rusted and rickety-looking, Sideswipe gently lowered Sunstreaker to the floor. He knew it had to be bad if Sunstreaker couldn't block the pain and nausea from traveling over the bond. Normally, they blocked such things unconsciously, but if the pain were sudden enough or intense enough, it would slip through. For Sideswipe to feel everything so clearly was a bad sign.

"Frag," Sunstreaker spat as he collapsed. "Never been this sick. Ever." He rubbed at his chest plates roughly, apparently not noticing the fine scratches he was putting in his paint.

Sideswipe flinched, horrified and guilt-ridden that he'd been spared. "I'm so sorry. I wish I'd been able to — "

"No," Sunstreaker interrupted, shooting him a glare. "No guilt. Besides, you're already sharing the pain with me." He gestured for his brother to come closer. "Now let's do this, and then we'll both feel better."

Sideswipe nodded, willing to do whatever it took to help his brother. He knelt on the floor, shifting to settle between his brother's legs, and lay atop him. "It'll be okay. I'll fix you, promise." Smiling sadly, he cupped Sunstreaker's left cheek and pressed a kiss to the opposite one. Surely, surely if they recalibrated and balanced their sparks, it would erase Sunstreaker's illness and pain. Prowl seemed to think so, anyway, and as strange as it seemed, he'd apparently been through it.

Relaxing under him, Sunstreaker gave him a brief, small smile. "I know. Now 'take' me."

At their private joke, Sideswipe's grin grew more genuine. Although Sunstreaker usually insisted on being 'on top' as it were, Sideswipe loved the times that Sunstreaker just relaxed and let Sideswipe care for him. He leaned down and kissed Sunstreaker's forehelm, then folded back his chest armor. "Open up for me."

Folding back his chest plates as well, Sunstreaker bared his spark, and to Sideswipe's concern, it was more pale blue than its usual royal blue. Despite this oddity, Sideswipe's spark immediately reacted, reaching wispy tendrils out to lick at its twin. Sunstreaker's half, however, barely responded, sending out only one short, weak tendril.

"What the frag?" Sunstreaker growled, offlining his optics.

Feeling his brother's sudden intense concentration, Sideswipe pushed forward with all he had, his spark shooting out a dozen tendrils that lapped at Sunstreaker's spark and began sinking into it. "It's okay," he whispered, pressing a second kiss to his cheek. "It'll be okay."

Although he didn't reply, Sunstreaker ran his arms around his brother's shoulders, holding him close. As though in answer, a fledging connection opened, dousing Sideswipe with the direct experience of his brother's burning pain. He gasped, pulling back momentarily, but then he accepted the pain and pushed forward.

_::Why is it so hard?::_ Sunstreaker asked, clearly upset. _::It's never been this hard! What the frag did he do to me?::_

Sideswipe had no idea, but he rushed to deepen their connection, ease his brother's agony, and erase that sense of wrongness that followed them from orn to orn. Slowly, too slowly, their thoughts began to mingle together as their essences mixed. It felt like pushing through neck-deep mud or driving through a stream. After straining and pressing, they managed to mix their spark energy enough that their thoughts overlapped, leaving them unable to discern which thought belonged to whom.

_::I think we're working through the problem, whatever the slag it is.::_

_::I don't like it. That was too creepy, almost like we'd been partially separated. Those fraggers! How dare they mess around with our bond!::_

_::Well, we escaped, and if they continue to come after us, we'll kill them all. So for now, let's just . . .::_

_::Focus on each other? Okay.::_

Sideswipe sank into his brother's embrace, releasing his entire essence to his twin. Sunstreaker fought to do the same, but some resistance remained. Fear raced through their connection.

_::I know, but it's okay. We're pulling through; we'll make it.::_

_::This is all so strange. Prowl is our sparker!::_ A tidal wave of anguish crashed through them both. _::I don't understand! Why didn't he tell us? I always felt something weird around him. I guess I know what it is now, but . . .::_

_::But how does he feel about us? I don't know, and I'm scared.::_

_::Me, too.::_ The fear of rejection settled deep into their sparks. _::I don't think I can handle it if he just tosses us aside. I wonder if he . . .::_

Neither one of them seemed capable of finishing that thought. Their terror vibrated between them, seeming to match the frequency of their sparks. The universe felt as though it were hurdling away from them, speeding and out of control, with all that they thought they knew demolished in the process. They became aware that they were crying, but they didn't try to stop their tears. It hurt, all of it, physically and emotionally. With a shuddering breath, Sideswipe cupped his brother's cheek again and kissed away the tears there. Sunstreaker embraced him more tightly, pulling them so close their armor rubbed and scratched.

A touch of anger, determination, and resistance sprang up between them. _::Even if we've got nothing else, we've always got each other.::_

They could only speak this way to each other in these moments where their sparks were one again and there was nothing worth hiding. _::That's right. I'm here. I'll always be here. You'll never have to face anything alone.::_

The fear returned far too easily. _::Do you think we really are unwanted? That we're a disappointment?::_

_::I don't know, and it scares me more than I like. But _I_ love you. Even if the whole universe turns against us, I'll always love you.::_

Finally, Sunstreaker's spark reacted full-force, sucking in Sideswipe's energy with a sudden surge. Their sparks seemed to bloom in their chests, the surge billowing outward and radiating through their frames. Sunstreaker moaned, his back arching off the floor, and clutched at Sideswipe's shoulders.

The pleasure shot through Sideswipe, making him gasp. Since he didn't have those kinds of feelings for his brother, he attempted to suppress the accidental effect, but now that the energy transfer was in progress, he couldn't control the flow as he usually could. He wanted Sunstreaker to have as much energy as he needed to be healed, but he couldn't manage the flood pouring out of his spark. He buried his face in Sunstreaker's neck, muffling the moan that was torn from him. Unconsciously, he pressed his hips into Sunstreaker's and pinned him back to the floor. _::Sunny! I . . . Sorry!::_

Sunstreaker held onto him tightly. _::No, it's fine. I . . . need you.::_

Feeling Sunstreaker's desperate encompassing of his half of their spark, Sideswipe stopped even trying to restrict the transfer. In response, the flood seemed to rage stronger, making their sparks further swell and unleashing a torrent of tingling through their sensory nets. Sunstreaker threw back his head, a second moan torn from his throat, and Sideswipe gasped as well. Never had so much energy been unleashed between them. Sideswipe's frame grew hot, his circuits interpreting the extra energy as pleasure, and he realized in an instant that they had lost control of the entire process.

As though responding to Sideswipe's thought, Sunstreaker bucked under him, clinging to him as he cried out and overloaded. The surge triggered an overload in Sideswipe's systems, and he clenched his jaw, swallowing his yell. Since Sunstreaker had gotten all the energy he needed to stabilize, their sparks parted and retracted. Once the moment was past, they lay collapsed on the floor together, their frames popping as the heat disbursed. They didn't speak, even over their bond, as an awkward silence grew between them.

Finally, terrified and embarrassed, Sideswipe ran a quick diagnostic of his spark merge energy regulator, and his systems reported it was fully functional. "Please tell me your SMER is online and undamaged," he whispered, not meeting his brother's gaze. He didn't want to imagine what would happen if they repeated history and sparked off each other. How would they ever face Smokescreen and Bluestreak?

An uncomfortable pause. "It's at 100 percent." Sunstreaker pushed a mental shrug over their bond. "Don't get so upset."

Sideswipe propped himself up on his elbow. "What do you mean 'don't get so upset'?"

"It was an accident." Sunstreaker stared at the ceiling, frowning. "You were trying to fix . . ."

Suddenly, they snapped their gazes to each other, staring. Sideswipe wasn't sure who'd made the connection first. "This was how it must have happened to Night Stalker and Maverick. But if they were younglings — "

" — then they probably didn't have SMERs. So they tried hard to fix the pain and — "

" — accidentally overloaded, creating . . . us." Sideswipe was so shocked he could hardly react. He had always wondered if his genitors loved each other or not, and he would have never guessed they had been brothers trapped in an experiment. Briefly, he thought he might begin crying again. It was horrible, too horrible.

Sunstreaker shook his head, his jaw clenching tightly and the hinge creaking. "No wonder they didn't want us. We were a freaky mistake."

Sideswipe frowned, stopping to consider the situation. Was that really true? He desperately wanted some kind of hope, a release from the pain. "If one of us had sparked just then, would you have hated the sparkling? Or sparklings?"

Refusing to answer, Sunstreaker stared past his shoulder.

Captured by the thought, Sideswipe wondered if they'd automatically have twins, then tried to imagine what that would be like. He remembered holding Hot Rod, helping Kup to care for the abandoned sparkling despite being a youngling himself. He multiplied the sensation: two warm bodies curled up in his arms with tiny, waving fists and innocent, trusting smiles. "Would you dismiss them as a mistake and try to terminate them? And if you decided to not to, would you give them away?"

A tense silence bloomed between them, then Sunstreaker shook his head slightly, his jaw clenching again.

"Me, neither," Sideswipe whispered. "I'm not _in_ love with you, but I do love you in a way no one but another split-spark twin can understand. You're my other _half._" He hesitated, realizing that Night Stalker and Maverick likely had felt the same way about each other. Perhaps it wasn't as terrible as he'd imagined. "If I had sparked and chosen to carry our sparklings, I know for sure I'd love them with everything I am. And if given the choice, I sure as the Pit wouldn't give them away." He paused, taking note of his own words. "Given the choice . . ."

Sunstreaker frowned. "Did Prowl have a choice?"

Sideswipe sat up and triggered his chest plates closed. "I guess we'd better ask and find out." He was actually deeply afraid of the answer, but he knew he would be tortured by the question until he resolved it.

Nodding in agreement, Sunstreaker closed his chest armor and sat up as well. "Let's go."

They stood up and grasped each other's hands, feeling the need for the physical reminder of the other's support. They walked through the series of interconnected berthrooms and out into the living area, then paused in the doorway, releasing each other's hands with great reluctance.

Prowl was sitting at the window that faced the street, watching the city below. "I can tell they haven't figured out yet that we turned west instead." He didn't look away from the window. "We can probably rest for another joor before we have to move, but we must stay significantly ahead of them."

"You have some explaining to do," Sunstreaker said, crossing his arms.

Sideswipe grimaced. As hurt and confused as he was, he wasn't sure anger was the answer. "Is it all true? It is, isn't it?" He let his shoulders slump, suddenly exhausted. "Will you explain what happened?"

"Of course I will." Prowl's voice was soft, quiet. "Have a seat." He finally turned toward them, gesturing at the floor. "I had hoped you wouldn't have to find out in such a brutal fashion, but there's no helping that now. To be honest, I'm not really sure how to handle this except to tell you the whole truth."

Sideswipe crossed the room and paused. Would Prowl ever accept him as his offspring? Despite all that had happened, Sideswipe wanted him to. The connection he'd always wanted existed, but it seemed just outside of his reach, walled off by invisible barriers. He was nothing but a trouble-maker, after all. "Okay," he said, settling at Prowl's feet and wanting to touch him somehow; however, he was too terrified to do so. "Tell us."

Sunstreaker remained standing, leaning against the back wall and frowning.

Prowl watched Sunstreaker for a moment, apparently weighing his options, but he didn't comment on his refusal. He met Sideswipe's gaze instead and reached out his hand as though to touch his cheek, only to pause, his fingers trembling midair.

Desperately wanting to connect, Sideswipe started to lean forward, but he could feel Sunstreaker's jealousy and pain through their bond. He hesitated, not wanting for his brother to get more upset.

"What's the hold up?" Sunstreaker demanded. "Spit it out already."

Flinching, Prowl dropped his hand and looked back out the window. "Well, the story technically begins the orn we joined the Praxus Special Forces." He seemed tired, sad, and almost resigned. "You see, our creator, who was elderly, was dying, and in a well-meaning effort to secure our futures, he contacted an old friend of his, the TIC of the PSF, Blackjack . . ."

oOoOo

Secured in Omega's cockpit, Optimus stared at Jazz, so stunned he could hardly react. "So you believe that Prowl, or rather Night Stalker, is Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's uncle?" He leaned back into his chair. "If this is a matter of family for him, then it's no wonder he was so determined and obsessed. How sure are you?" He sighed and glanced around the small room. They had retreated to the cockpit in order to have this conversation in private, but the room seemed suddenly too tiny, almost restrictive and oppressive.

"Sure enough," Jazz replied, still scanning the information on his datapad. "These records don't say what the sparklings' designations were, but given Prowler's efforts to protect Sunny and Sides, we can pretty much assume they're the ones. I mean, I don't have any great proof, but they're the right age and all. Anyway, we are sure of two things: Prowl was in the study, and his old record has to be Night Stalker's. The fact Prowl outlived his twin means the experiment apparently succeeded, so those ex-PSF slaggers want to dissect Prowl and the twins or somethin' like that. I dunno. All I know is they're in slag-loads of danger and it's pretty much our fault."

Optimus shook his head. "Let's just get them back alive." He frowned to himself, confused and concerned. "Why didn't Prowl tell us all this upfront?"

Jazz snorted. "Maybe 'cause we woulda instantly assumed what we ultimately did: he's emotionally compromised and automatically assumin' the worst." He shrugged. "I dunno. He kept sayin' he needed 'proof' and that he would 'make it make sense.' Ya know how he is about 'sufficient evidence' and 'logic' and all. Maybe he thought that since there's no conclusive evidence that he was ever Night Stalker, he would look crazy."

Optimus considered the problem. "Perhaps. Or he thought hiding it would somehow help protect Sunstreaker and Sideswipe." He was hurt and concerned about the fact Prowl hadn't confided in him. "Still, he could have trusted us with that knowledge." _And now that I have the information, it doesn't make sense of why Prowl loves Jazz, too._

"Well, I hope he trusts us, yeah." Jazz jabbed the touchscreen with more force than necessary. "Although we _did_ let him down in — " He jerked upright, staring at the datapad in shock. "No way! It says here that the CAF reported Night Stalker died. What the frag?"

Optimus frowned to himself, confused, and considered all that had been said. "Ratchet seemed to think all the twins had died, too."

Jazz lowered the datapad to his lap and stared at Prime. "Wait. Prowl said he was in Witness Protection, and reportin' the endangered mech as dead is standard procedure for them. I guess that don't really change my theory."

"True." Optimus shook his head, still shocked. It was odd to consider that Prowl had once had a different designation, different paint, and a whole different life. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Optimus knew that if Prowl had told him all the information upfront, he would have been mind-blown and lacking evidence. And while he would have trusted Prowl's word on his previous identity, without any evidence of current wrongdoing, Prime still couldn't have taken definitive action against the ex-PSF agents. "This is a lot to take in."

"Yer not jokin'." Jazz subspaced the datapad, exhaling through his vents heavily. "Well, whatever. We can ask Prowl questions about all this stuff after we have him safely home."

Optimus had to agree. "Yes, let's just table it for now. It's not what's most important." No, what was most important was rescuing Prowl and holding him close. _Hang on, Prowl. Keep your nephews safe. We're coming._

Leaning his elbow on the control board, Jazz propped his chin on his fist. "Does make sense in a way. Prowl was so worried about the twins, almost like a genitor. And he _is_ their uncle. Primus!"

Although he started to nod in agreement, Optimus suddenly stopped short. "Wait a klik. Prowl has always called Sunstreaker and Sideswipe 'our twins.' I always thought it was sweet, but . . ." He trailed off, trying to figure out what it could possibly indicate.

"Yer right!" Jazz straightened up again. "Why the 'our,' though?"

A strange, wild idea occurred to Optimus. _Surely not,_ he thought, but the thought persisted: if Prowl used 'our' in the present tense, did that mean Maverick wasn't truly gone? And if Maverick wasn't gone, then what did that mean?

Jazz's facial expression was growing suspicious, and he titled his helm back and to the side. "'Our?' As in Night Stalker and Maverick's? But why say 'our' if Maverick's dead and Night Stalker's only the uncle?"

Optimus thought his processor might overheat with the implications of their questions. "You don't seriously think that — "

The console's comm. unit beeped, interrupting him. ::Omega Supreme to Optimus Prime. Arrival imminent.::

::Acknowledged. Prime out.:: Optimus stood. "Later. It's time."

Jazz stood as well, following Optimus out as he swept into the main cabin. "We'll be landing shortly," Optimus told the assembled mechs. "Once we've landed, we'll split up. Starting at Polyhex's southern parameter, which is their weakest point, we'll breach the city walls and work toward Darkmount, sweeping the area as we go in case Prowl and the twins have managed to escape. Jazz and his team will take the west side of Polyhex, and I and my team will take the east side. Any questions?" He glanced around at his mechs, noticing the determined looks on their faces.

"None, sir." Ironhide squared his shoulder struts. "I just wanna kick some Decepticon aft!"

Optimus couldn't agree more. He met Bluestreak's and Smokescreen's gazes in turn. "Let's go save our mechs."

* * *

_Postscript: Please continue to remain patient with the updates. I do intend to finish this fic by Christmas, but this is a busy time of year for most everyone. And the closer to Christmas it gets, the busier my beta readers and I will become. Although my intention is to update roughly every two weeks, sometimes I will be faster or slower._

_The theme song for this chapter for pretty much everyone is "Anything for You" by Evanescence. Watch it here at http : / www .youtube. com/ watch? v=lS_FrBsM9m4 & feature=related (remove the spaces)._

_"I'd give anything to give me to you.  
Can you forget the world that you thought you knew?  
If you want me, come and find me . . ._

_I'll become your earth and sky,  
Forever, never die.  
I'll be everything you need._

_I'll believe all your lies;  
Just pretend you love me.  
Make believe,  
Close your eyes,  
I'll be anything for you."  
-"Anything for You," Evanescence_


	10. Time Is the Law

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! As usual, I have some reviewers I need to thank since I can't PM them, so a special thanks to bionerd, PROWLERTwins, arcpus, Christina, Optimus'girl, and phoebe turner. I really appreciate that you take the time out to give me feedback!_

_I forgot to list "A Study in Contrasts" by mmouse15 and "The Science to Transformers" by Asher 119 as inspirations, so let me do that now!_

_Like in my story "No Quiet to Find," I'm borrowing budding and the Swarm from the G2 comics._

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_**Chapter 10: Lex Tempus  
**__**or Time is the Law**_

Terrifying.

That word was all Sideswipe could use to describe the situation and the only word he could hope to use. However, it wasn't the Con squads searching for them that terrified him. For two joors, Prowl had led them in a southwestern zigzag pattern, leaving behind misleading trails and confusing their pursuers. Since Prowl's most recent intel suggested that the southern perimeter was the weakest, it was their ultimate goal, and because they had gained a significant amount of ground, they had stopped in an abandoned café to rest. Their situation could be worse, so Sideswipe wasn't worried.

No, what terrified him was the thought of what would happen to Sunstreaker if they were recaptured. And, despite believing he shouldn't worry about it at the moment, Sideswipe was also terrified that he was a disappointment to Prowl. That although Night Stalker and Maverick hadn't wanted to give them up, Prowl no longer wished to have them as his offspring. What was more, he feared that Prowl considered them warped in some way due to the incest.

Sideswipe squatted by the cafe's front window, peaking through the jagged peaks of broken glass. Eternal night hung outside like an inky fog, curling around the building thickly with only one pale, yellow light to fight it. In a silent show of pique, Sunstreaker retreated to the café's energon preparation area, shutting the door behind him and telling Sideswipe over their bond that he meant to recharge. Knowing his brother still wasn't back to normal despite their spark merge, Sideswipe let him go without comment. Meanwhile, Prowl, who had found an ancient comm. radio, was searching the building for circuits and wires to fix it and search for the 'Con squads' frequency, hoping to eavesdrop on their chatter. Since Whisper had been paranoid, he had physically damaged their radios, not just used a dampening field, so their comms were down.

In the darkness, the café's toppled tables and broken chairs seemed somehow foreboding, and Sideswipe could almost imagine them as enemies poised for attack. He had always been accused of a wild imagination, and not just because of his pranks and funny stories. For better or worse, he could take most any idea and run with it, and in this case, it was definitely for the worse. He remembered, in excruciating detail, each punishment Prowl had ever given him. Those optics, flared brightly. That frown, disapproving. Those doorwings, tense and hiked high. _ "Sideswipe, we've discussed this before." "Sideswipe, I'd thought you'd moved past this stage." "Sideswipe, Bluestreak didn't deserve such horrible treatment; I'm disappointed in you."_

Disappointed.

Sitting fully on the floor, Sideswipe curled in on himself. Listening to Prowl's story had answered his questions about the past: how they'd been sparked, what danger they were in, and how his genitors felt about their sparklings. What it didn't answer was if Prowl wanted them as his offspring _now_. Did he wish they were smarter? More accomplished and better educated? Junior officers? Was he disillusioned by the fact they were mere warriors like Kup? Sideswipe knew Prowl wished they were better-behaved since nothing exasperated him more than pranks.

_If he rejects me, I won't be able to take it,_ Sideswipe thought, his chest burning with his anguish until sharp pains shot down his arms. _Although I never understood why, I always wanted a creator-offspring connection with him. Now I have it, but if he doesn't want me . . ._ He shuddered, feeling utterly petrified.

Prowl swept into the room. "I've fixed the radio. Sounds like all the squads are focusing on the east at the moment. We should be able to rest here for a joor."

Glancing up, Sideswipe smiled, but it was a pale imitation of its usual self. "That's good."

Prowl set down the radio on one table and gazed at him. "Sideswipe? What is it?"

Standing up to face Prowl, Sideswipe found he wasn't sure he could answer. He was so very terrified that Prowl would say he was let down, but at the same time, he knew he'd never have another moment's peace until he asked. He gathered all his courage, far more than he'd ever needed to fight the Decepticons, and forced himself to speak. "Are you . . . disappointed? In me, I mean." He jerked his gaze away, staring at the cracked wall. "I mean, I'm not a genius like you are, and I'm so rash. I never think things through, and — and — I'm constantly causing problems." Now that he'd begun speaking, he felt like he couldn't stop, like all his fears would pour out of him at once, a raging river of pains, accusations, and self-accusations. "I've lost count of all the times you've punished me for pranks and you must be so frustrated and I'm just a warrior not some officer or tactician so you'd have to be disappointed and — "

Gentle hands cupped his face, turning it until Sideswipe was facing Prowl again. He wouldn't look up, though.

"Look at me." Prowl's voice was soft, tender.

Sideswipe forced himself to meet his gaze and gasped faintly at the look of love glowing there. His spark's desperation to believe that love was really his scorched his very essence and sent shocks through his circuits. His vents briefly stuttered to a stop.

"Of course I'm not disappointed." Prowl held his gaze with intensity. "I have loved you — _we_ have loved you — every single astrosecond since you were sparked. Your pranks? You got that tendency from Maverick. Your rashness and rebellion? Again, Maverick. Consider his designation; nonconformity is what he is. Although we're working to turn you into a responsible adult, we recognize Maverick in you and are touched to see it. We also see Night Stalker in you because you got from him your superb acting skills that you display in your quest to pull off pranks or your desire to entertain others."

Coolant sprang to Sideswipe's optics as his processor began overheating. "Then you're not disappointed?" He hated that his voice wavered, but he felt as though his spark would burn up in his chest, consumed by his dread and agony. "Because you never even gave us a hint of who you are, and I know it was dangerous and all, but I thought maybe . . . maybe I was just too . . . bad."

Prowl tilted down his face so he could press a kiss to his forehelm. "Never," he whispered, pulling Sideswipe into his arms and hugging him tightly. "Not _ever._ I have always loved you, and I always will. There is nothing, _nothing_, you can do that would make me stop loving you. You might upset me, anger me, or frustrate me with your misbehavior, but you can't make me stop loving you. On the contrary, I'm quite proud of you."

"But . . ." Sideswipe trembled, desperate to believe what Prowl was saying but still filled with fear. "Isn't there something wrong with us? You know, from the . . . incest?" He could hardly bring himself to say the word out loud. "Mechs have told us that before, especially Sunny. That we're warped or too much like 'Cons, and if our sparkcode — "

Prowl released him enough that their gazes could meet again. "Absolutely _not._ Lacking any real knowledge of sparkcode, Maverick and Night Stalker researched it. We discovered that since our sparkcode was identical, our sparking off each other was the same as budding."

A shot of panic struck Sideswipe's tank like lightning. "_Budding?_ But didn't that create the Swarm back before the war started? Primus!" He hadn't studied history closely as a sparkling, but the amoral, mindless, devouring horror of the Swarm had left an impression upon him. Scientists had determined that the Swarm's sparkcode was corrupted and that they lacked the essence of Primus. Did this mean Sunstreaker and he lacked a fully formed conscience or perhaps had a distorted spark?

Reaching up to cup his cheeks again, Prowl gave him a faint, gentle shake. "Sideswipe, the Swarm was created from the abuse of budding. It takes _generations_ of budding for any distortion in the sparkcode to occur. Just one split-off will not cause damage, and likewise, one set of offspring from incest between split-spark twins won't either. Sunstreaker and you are perfectly normal."

"Oh." Shuddering, Sideswipe bit his lip, trying to hold back his tears; his processor was so overheated that it hurt. As relieved as he was to hear he was normal, he was having trouble reconciling all his fears with the truth.

Prowl pulled him back into a tight embrace and rested his chin on his shoulder. "But don't you see?" he whispered softly. "Even if you had come out damaged, we would still love you just because you're _ours._ We love you no matter what. Always."

Unable to stop the sob that burst from him, Sideswipe broke into tears and wrapped his arms around Prowl's waist, clinging to him. Prowl pressed a series of kisses to his helm, whispering to him gently of just how much he loved him, and began stroking his back with one hand. Sideswipe slumped into his embrace, soaking up that affection, and rested his head on Prowl's shoulder until he calmed down. For a long time, neither of them moved, simply holding each other closely. Sideswipe decided he could stay that way for half of forever, but his growing peace and happiness reminded him of what his recharging brother was missing.

Concerned, Sideswipe finally straightened and met Prowl's gaze again. "Look, I know Sunny's not going to come to you like I have, but he needs this as much as I do. Maybe more. If you really want to be a . . . family . . . with us then you need to go to him, ignore his snide remarks, and just hug him until he gives in."

"Of course I want to be a family." Prowl smiled. "And I think I can handle that."

Sideswipe sincerely hoped so. He had no illusions about the amount of time and effort it would take to overcome their wounds and come together.

oOoOo

_Consciousness returned to him slowly, far more slowly than ever before._

Reboot sequence initiated.

Main processor online.

_Night Stalker thought that something was odd, off, somehow different._

Power-on self-test: execute.

Initiating boot device sequence.

_Something had changed. He didn't feel the same._

Loading master boot record.

Primary memory online.

_Wait. His designation wasn't Night Stalker any longer. It was Prowl, and he was no longer a youngling. Thanks to the two sparks powering his laser core, he'd been prematurely upgraded into an adult so he could be disguised more easily. However, he discerned that those differences weren't what he was sensing._

Executing operating system kernel.

Initial programs loaded.

Activating battle computer and essential secondary hardware.

_Prowl felt confused. His new battle computer had been given such a high priority? Struggling to make sense of his new world, he onlined his optics and audios and tried to identify his surroundings. A hospital. He was back in a hospital room, and the world seemed strangely quiet._

Maverick?

_No response._

Maverick? Mav? Mav!_ Prowl frowned, realizing that something was very, deeply wrong. His mind was silent, and it felt peculiar to call out to Maverick for some reason. In fact, the world _looked_ different, felt different, resonated differently. The lights seemed almost too bright; the ceiling above him appeared almost concave. And the silence . . . the silence was almost like deafness — a nothingness greater than the lack of sound. It went beyond that, more like the utter void of space._

_He gasped, suddenly terrified. _What did they do to me?_ He had taken a chance on the Autobots, dared to trust Power Run, and let them upgrade him into an adult and fit him with a new battle computer. Had they proven they truly were as evil as the PSF in the end?_

_Prowl sat up and stared at his body. Crisp black and white paint met his inspection, just as Maverick had designed it, and he flexed his doorwings, which they'd refused to give up even for the sake of disguise, assuring himself they were there. His adult body was a standard height and size for a vehicular model, just as he'd been told. What, then, had gone wrong?_

_Faintly, from the other side of the closed door, he heard Power Run's raised voice: "_What?_ What do you mean?"_

_Another voice answered which Prowl couldn't understand; apparently the mech spoke at a normal volume._

_Power Run's angry voice pierced the door again: "You didn't tell me that!" A pause. "Well, did you ask his permission?"_

_Disturbed, Prowl decided he didn't like the sound of that. So something had been done to him. He was afraid to ask what, especially since he didn't feel quite right. For one, he clearly couldn't access his bond with his brother, and in addition, he felt stuck in that moment right when Maverick would surge forward to take control of their body._

_Power Run's voice reached him again. "Fraggin' _Primus_! I can't _believe_ you!"_

_The door slid open abruptly, and Power Run swept into the room looking agitated, a deep frown marring his face. "Ni — Prowl! How do you feel?"_

_"What did they do to me?" Prowl flinched faintly at the sound of his voice, which was lower than before and yet a solid, smooth tenor. It didn't sound like him. Then again, he didn't feel like himself at all._

_Slumping his doorwings, Power Run exhaled through his vents noisily. "I'm so sorry. All they told me was that they were giving you a highly sophisticated battle computer because your extra spark energy could power it properly. Apparently since I'm not a medic, I didn't 'need' to know anything else." He scowled._

_"What. Did. They. Do!" Prowl glared at him, both angry and terrified._

_Power Run held his gaze, clearly apologetic. "Well, I asked them why you stayed unconscious for so long, and they said it was because your processor had to adapt to the changes . . . and apparently those 'changes' have to do with your personality programs and emotional subroutines."_

_Behind Power Run, the door had opened, and a black and silver mech stepped into the room. "That's right," he said, walking up to the medberth. "I'm Quicksilver, your medic. How do you feel, Prowl?"_

_"Internally deaf." It was the only way Prowl could think of to describe it. "I can _feel_ that Maverick is with me, but I can't hear him or talk to him over our bond." He paused, struck again with how odd it felt to speak that way, almost as though he were referring to himself in the third person. _Well, Mav is a part of me now, so there is no 'I.' We are an us. Maybe . . ._ He frowned, confused and upset. "It's too quiet. Downright stifling. What did you do to me?"_

_Quicksilver shook his head. "I'm sorry to hear that." He pulled a datapad out of subspace and typed in a few notes to the screen. "I spoke with both Rivet and the engineering team who built your battle computer. We decided that given your unique situation, trying to share a body between two sparks and personalities would be too difficult for you and too confusing for others. In fact, we feared it would ultimately drive you insane or impair your quality of life. So we added extra programming to the battle computer and rerouted your personality programs and emotional subroutines through it."_

_Momentarily too stunned to react, Prowl stared at him, his processor whirling. _They silenced our bond this way?_ "What?" he managed to choke out. The rage smashed through his lines, rising in his tank like a living entity, thrashing and flailing, hot and painful. "You did _what?_ You didn't ask my permission to do that!"_

_"You were a youngling." Quicksilver spoke gently but matter-of-factly. "Technically, until your records are officially filed, you still are a youngling."_

_Prowl clenched his fists, tempted to punch Quicksilver into the wall. "As if that matters! It's my__ life! We were perfectly happy the way we were, and it should have been _our_ decision to make. So what if we _inconvenience_ other mechs? They're not the ones having to live in a half-dead state!"_

_"'Having to live,'" Quicksilver repeated. "See, this is exactly what we were so worried about. We didn't do this to hurt you or even to help us; we did this to give you the best chance for a normal life. You're going to be an adult, and you're going to start over from the beginning. A whole new life." He held out one hand as if in plea. "You don't want to do that with two separate personalities and identities because you'd spend the rest of your life explaining your odd behavior. Frankly, it would defeat the whole purpose of Witness Protection and put you in danger."_

_Prowl stared at him, so angry he was near tears. The argument, in and of itself, was perfectly logical, but the level of sheer assumption behind it was shocking. Worst of all, however, was the fact Night Stalker and Maverick could no longer talk. "So you . . . what? Silenced our bond?"_

_Quicksilver subspaced his datapad and folded his hands. "Actually, to be honest, we didn't know it would silence your bond. The battle computer is programmed to integrate both of you. Whatever Night Stalker and Maverick think or feel will be filtered through the battle computer, enabling you to experience it all simultaneously as a single consciousness."_

_The implications were astounding, too astounding for Prowl to truly grasp. His processor raced to comprehend both the physics and meta-physics behind it. "You made us one mech."_

_"In a sense." Quicksilver offered him a tentative smile. "Our goal was to give you a single consciousness, and quite frankly, we weren't sure of the implications. It's not like this has ever been done before. We'll have to monitor you closely."_

_"Primus!" Prowl glared at him, his terror and rage resurfacing. "You don't even know what you're doing? You really are as bad as the PSF."_

_Quicksilver shook his head. "No. They did what they did for their own power, wealth, and glory. We're trying to improve your quality of life." He sighed. "I'm sorry this is upsetting for you, but I promise that you're still you. You can't think or feel anything Night Stalker or Maverick wouldn't, although I suspect there will be times when your feelings or thoughts conflict or contradict each other. But let's face it: that's not uncommon. A lot of mechs experience those moments." He stepped closer and offered another small smile. "At the same time, 'Prowl's' personality is made from Night Stalker and Maverick's combined, which means some of your traits — conflicting ones — have been chosen between, and others have been mixed together. In short, you truly are a new mech."_

_Prowl glanced at Power Run, trying to gauge his reaction to this and see if he had any support, and found him glowering at the floor. He turned back to Quicksilver, trying to generate response. Only one came to mind. "Get. Out."_

_Jerking slightly, Quicksilver's optics flared bright. "Excuse me?"_

_"Get out!" Prowl swung his legs off the berth, trying to stand up, and when he couldn't, he pointed at the door. "_Get out!_"_

_Quicksilver held up his hands and backed out of the room. Only then did Power Run look up, glaring at the medic as he left._

_"Fraggers," Power Run hissed. Once the door was closed again, he walked over and perched on the berth by Prowl, wrapping one arm around him. "Slaggit, it's not fair."_

_Robbed of the bond, Prowl leaned into the embrace, seeking some kind of comfort. In a way, he was now all alone — alone and stranded in an identity crisis. He had no idea who he was or who he should be. It had been confusing enough switching back and forth between Night Stalker and Maverick. Now he was left in utter confusion, unsure which direction he should go, what he should focus on, or what he should even want. "What happens now?" he whispered, shuddering._

_Power Run hugged him closer. "Well, we've crafted detailed records for you. You'll be admitted into the Autobot Academy here in Kaon at the beginning of the next term, which is only three decaorns away. With your new battle computer, you can specialize in anything you like, so you might want to spend the time researching the areas and deciding what you want." He paused and rubbed Prowl's arm with his hand. "Also, we'll need to record your testimony against the PSF, if you're willing. We'll blur out your face and alter your voice, and your designation will not be recorded anywhere — the new one or the old one. We'll just reveal that you were an officer."_

_"Of course I will." Prowl straightened and met Power Run's gaze. "I want them to pay for what they did to us." He frowned. "What will the official records say happened to Night Stalker? That he died?"_

_Power Run nodded. "We're even having your old frame entombed. No one should ever know the difference as long as you maintain your new identity. But this is a total wipe: you can't have any contact with anyone you previously knew. I'll even stay away from you for several vorns, although I hope we'll end up assigned somewhere together eventually. I'm going to miss you; you two were wonderful friends." Clearly saddened, he grew quiet, his optics dimming. "And, unfortunately, the total wipe includes your sparklings if you really want them to live safe lives."_

So that's it,_ Prowl thought, staring down at his lap. _My entire life — lives — thus far will be erased, and all that I knew and loved is gone. Plus I can never be with my sparklings again._ Was this all he could hope for in his life — safety without peace or joy? Was that enough to live by?_

_He wasn't sure the answer could be yes.  
_

oOoOo

Staring out the window, Sunstreaker watched the streets around the abandoned warehouse. Once again, they'd spent two joors giving their pursuers the runaround before slipping away and working their way southwest on foot. Prowl was letting them rest for a joor before continuing toward the city's south wall, and given how much spark energy Sideswipe had given him, Sunstreaker insisted his brother recharge this time. He'd encouraged Prowl to recharge as well, insisting he'd be diligent in his role as sentry, and Prowl had finally agreed. Both of them had retreated to the far corner to lie on a pile of crates that they were using as a berth.

In truth, Sunstreaker needed quiet time to think. _I'm not sure where to begin,_ he mused, his processor buzzing with everything Prowl had told them. It seemed obvious to him that Prowl was his genitor since it explained the strange sensations he'd always had around Prowl — that odd need to be close to him. Night Stalker and Maverick's story even made sense given Sideswipe and he had been abducted and experimented on also. _But I don't understand why Prowl didn't reveal who he was sooner. He could've told us! We could've kept the secret._ He frowned to himself. _Well, Sides would've busted trying to keep it between us, but I would've forced him to keep it to himself._

Glaring out the broken glass of the window, Sunstreaker tried to dismiss that line of thought. The darkness outside was almost tangible, the streetlights having been smashed long ago, and he scanned the area with his infrared vision. Behind him, the empty warehouse felt cavernous, water dripping and echoing from one corner with a steady _plionk, plionk, plionk._ It didn't take long for the sound to irritate him. With a huff, Sunstreaker crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the cold, steel wall. Unbidden, his thoughts returned.

_Prowl never told us who he was. The way he tells the story, Night Stalker and Maverick didn't get a choice about giving us up as sparklings. But what about now? We're adults._

_He didn't want us after all._

Sunstreaker's vents hitched, and he curled in on himself slightly. The specter of abandonment rose in his chest, expanding and burning his spark like a fireball, and added to it was Sideswipe's earlier words about Prowl perhaps being disappointed in them. Sideswipe had told him he and Prowl had talked, but Sunstreaker was in too much pain to listen to the details and had tuned him out. His engine whined faintly, his jaw clenching as well.

The tiniest breath of noise like a breeze, so quiet he barely registered it, brushed past his audios, and he whirled, finding Prowl standing only an arm's length away. "Frag!" he hissed, keeping his voice down so as to not disturb his brother. "Don't you know better than to sneak up on me?" He forgot sometimes that Prowl, apparently like Night Stalker, had his designation for a reason.

Prowl paused, his doorwings jerking high on his back in clear stress. "I wasn't aware I was sneaking up."

After befriending, dating, and observing doorwingers for vorns, Sunstreaker could read them well, far better than they even realized. Those rigid doorwings, held so high and slanted on Prowl's back, were an obvious indication that he was feeling upset, anxious, and tense. _Well, too bad,_ he though, unimpressed. _I'm in slagloads of pain, and I'm the one who's really been hurt here. You're just going to have to deal._ "I thought you were going to recharge."

"I couldn't." Prowl frowned and glanced out the window.

_Well, I don't want to talk to you,_ Sunstreaker thought viciously. As blunt as he could be, though, he also found speaking hard at times. Thoughts seemed to lodge in his processor, which was perhaps why he found Bluestreak complementary as a lover. Bluestreak would often verbalize things for him and always handled the social situations they were shoved into. And yet, in spite of himself, Sunstreaker spoke this time. "Why?"

Prowl's gaze slanted his direction. "Which part?"

"Why didn't you tell us you're our genitor? Genitors." Sunstreaker glared at him, hurt and confused.

His optics dimming, Prowl stared at the floor. "I hope one orn you'll be able to forgive me for that." He paused, meeting Sunstreaker's gaze. "I didn't tell you because I was trying to prevent this exact situation from happening."

"Well, you _failed_ then, didn't you?" Sunstreaker turned and leaned his back against the wall, keeping his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Prowl flinched and glanced away again. "Utterly. And I can't apologize enough."

"Well, _don't._" Sunstreaker didn't want to hear it. It couldn't make any difference. If Prowl really did love him so much, he should've approached them long ago, and a simple apology would never erase how deeply hurt he felt that Prowl hadn't. The rage and pain surged in his lines as though his energon were on fire. "I really wish I understood why you stayed silent so long. Do you actually even care?"

Prowl's gaze snapped back to him. "That's brutally unfair." His doorwings flared wide. "Everything I have ever done I've done to save Sideswipe and you! I explained to you how hard it was to give you up and how much I didn't want to. I explained how much danger you were in. I'd think that the mere fact we've been abducted and you've been experimented on would be evidence of how real the danger was." He inhaled noisily, his doorwings quivering faintly. "I understand that you're hurt, but you're not the only one hurting here! We all are."

At first, Sunstreaker didn't reply, simply glaring at him. Sideswipe sometimes accused him of believing that his feelings were more important or that his view was more correct than everyone else's. In a sense, Sunstreaker didn't want to argue that. He _was_ smarter, better, stronger, and more talented than everyone else, and as a result, of _course_ his opinion was more accurate and legitimate than others. The sooner mechs understood that, the quicker Sunstreaker could do his job and alleviate the slag created by the idiots who didn't know how to fight properly.

However, in the deepest part of his spark, he knew part of his need to be right, be acknowledged as the best, and be emotionally affirmed came from the lingering fear — even downright certainty — that he was going to be dismissed, ignored, found wanting, and generally abandoned.

Finally, Sunstreaker deigned to reply. "At least you knew who we were, where we were, and could watch us every orn. Kup once let it slip that our carrier had died, but we didn't know anything about our sparker. I thought we were abandoned."

Looking resolute, Prowl shook his head. "I always feared this might happen, but despite that I kept you with me. As soon as you finished basic training, I made sure we were always assigned to the same base together." He sighed. "In a sense, my selfish determination to keep you both with me both damned you and saved you."

"You _could_ have told us," Sunstreaker insisted, stubborn.

Prowl crossed his arms as well. "First of all, you have a close relationship with Kup and always seemed happy with him. I didn't want to get in the way of that, and I didn't know you longed to know your real genitors. Secondly, you two, especially Sideswipe, would have confided in those you trusted, perhaps to Smokescreen and Bluestreak. But if either one of them, or someone else you'd loved and confided in along the way, told even one other mech, then your safety and security could have been breached. I couldn't risk that."

Sunstreaker realized he was arguing with one of the few mechs as mulish as he was, and then it hit him that he had likely inherited his stubbornness directly from the mech standing before him. "Well, hearing that doesn't make me feel any better, and you're still wrong."

"I — " Prowl's doorwings slumped suddenly. "I've explained the situation and asked your forgiveness. That is all I can do. Whether you forgive me or not is up to you." He turned away. "Even if you never forgive me, I will always love you." He headed back to the corner where he'd been recharging by Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker watched his back and those sagging doorwings. As usual, he'd won the argument. As usual, he hadn't really won anything at all. Instead, he'd just fragged up his attempt to communicate with someone he loved. His tanks turning, he scrambled for something to say, although he'd never lower himself to apologize. Still, he didn't want to watch another back as someone else walked away, especially if that someone were his genitor. "We wanted to dance with you."

Halting abruptly, Prowl glanced over his shoulder. "Dance with me?"

"During our spark-date party." Sunstreaker stared at his feet, feeling awkward. "You danced with Bluestreak even though he's not even your officially-adopted creation. We . . . wanted to, too." Even after all this time and pain, he still wished they'd been able to. If he'd only known he'd had the right to, he would have marched up to Prowl and demanded a dance.

After a pause, Prowl returned to him, his stiff steps betraying his trepidation and uncertainty. "Do you . . . still wish to?"

"What?" Sunstreaker wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. "But there's no music." A strange yearning rose in him, making his very frame ache, and although he couldn't say so, he wanted Prowl to throw aside all logic.

"Does that matter?" Prowl held out his hand, his doorwings perking up. "Shall we dance?"

Bypassing the hand, Sunstreaker stepped forward and wrapped one arm around his waist, resting his palm in the small of Prowl's back. For a moment, Prowl seemed startled, but without comment, he rested his hand on Sunstreaker's shoulder and grasped his other hand. Too embarrassed to meet his genitor's gaze, Sunstreaker pulled him close and swept them to the side, beginning the customary dance.

Without the music, Sunstreaker timed their steps to the memory of his favorite traditional song, but he nearly stumbled as Prowl relaxed into his embrace, his doorwings lowering to a comfortable height. A powerful feeling unleashed itself inside Sunstreaker's spark, nameless and inexplicable. Knowing it wasn't romantic desire, he struggled to define it, but it fluttered through his lines like a skipping pulse, deep and raw. The warm body he held as they circled the room belonged to his carrier and sparker both, and he wanted to protect it, protect Prowl. Conversely, he wanted to be protected, see Prowl defend him and stand up for him. Would Prowl allow that? Would he do that? A surge of fear shot through his spark, as though what he wanted, what he'd discovered, ghosted past his fingers like vapor and air.

The need in him recoiled, burning his tanks, and he stopped dancing abruptly, releasing Prowl with a faint shove and backing up a step. "I don't understand!" _Don't you know how much I needed you all this time?_ "You act like you care." _Don't you know how much I need your love?_ "But all we have to show for it is a CO who got abducted with us!" _There is so much you could have answered, so much you could have explained._ "What about — what about — " _You could have explained about twins and spark merging; you could have been there the time I was sure Sides was dead and couldn't sense him. I was so terrified._

Prowl lifted one hand toward him, then dropped it. "Sunstreaker . . ."

Suddenly, warm hands settled on his shoulders from behind and squeezed. _::Sunny, it's okay.::_ Sideswipe hugged him from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder.

_::I'm not optimistic like you are. It doesn't come that easy.::_ Sunstreaker slumped, staring down at the floor.

"Would you like to see it for yourself?" Prowl's voice was a whisper. "Would you like to feel it for yourself?"

Jerking up his gaze, Sunstreaker stared at Prowl, whose doorwings had fallen flat on his back again, the saddest frown tainting his face. "What?"

"My memories." Prowl started to continue, even opened his mouth, but he glanced away and lifted and dropped both hands. An awkward pause followed. "I . . . I'm not sure I can give you Maverick's memories. I don't understand spark metaphysics well, but I think Maverick's memories exist only at the spark level. I can download Night Stalker's to you, though."

Sunstreaker felt so stunned he couldn't react. _You would do that?_

Sideswipe, however, had no problem speaking, his tone equal parts surprise and excitement. "You would do that? Seriously?"

"Of course." Prowl touched his neck with his fingertips, still not meeting their gazes. However, it didn't hide the coolant pooling in his optics. "We can use the connection ports and cables in our necks. I'll give you as much as you want, as much as you think you can take."

The crash of pure, desperate need to connect with their genitors flooded Sunstreaker's spark twice over, once from his own feelings and once from the bond with Sideswipe. Truth. They were being offered unconditional truth via the most intimate connection mechs could have next to spark merging and passionate interfacing.

"Frag, yeah!" Sideswipe squeezed his brother tightly. _::Sunny? Sunny, please!::_

Still unsure, Sunstreaker hesitated, his fear surging through his lines. What if they made that connection and Sunstreaker saw disappointment? Apathy? Irritation? However, what if he found love instead? The painful need arose within him again, burning his spark. Finally, slowly, he nodded.

_::Thank you, Sunny.::_ Sideswipe pressed a kiss to his helm and then released him.

Inhaling deeply, Prowl walked over to them and opened the port on his neck, tilting his head to give them better access. His doorwings perked high on his back, trembling with emotion. After an uncomfortable pause, Sideswipe stepped behind Prowl and pulled the cable from his own neck, fumbling his first attempt getting it connected. Prowl's optics flared at the contact.

Sunstreaker stared at his genitor, the fear now pounding through his lines until he could almost hear the pulse in his audios. Was he really going to do this? Would it really be okay? The moment seemed almost surrealistic. With numb fingers, Sunstreaker reached up to his own neck and pulled out his connection cable, which he couldn't even feel under his fingertips. He lost his grip on it, accidentally letting snap back in place, and had to repeat the process.

Prowl watched him with a tender expression he couldn't identify, then reached out and gently took the cable from him, pressing it into his neck port. Once again, Prowl's optics surged at the contact, and Sunstreaker involuntarily gasped, half in fear and half in shock. A warning popped up on his HUD, signaling the process had begun.

_New hardware detected. Install connection drivers?_

Sunstreaker lost himself in Prowl's gentle gaze, his spark nearly vibrating in his chest. _Yes._

_Drivers installed. Synchronizing systems._

Was this love? Sunstreaker wasn't sure. Prowl's expression wasn't the same as Bluestreak's or Sideswipe's. It didn't even match Kup's, exactly, although Kup's was the closet analogue. What was love, anyway? For a moment, he wondered if he really understood the emotion at all.

_Synchronization complete. Download offered. Initiate download?_

Wordlessly, Prowl reached up and cupped his cheek, the tender look growing more intense and a soft smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Sunstreaker's spark seemed to vibrate harder in response.

_Yes._ Sunstreaker dropped his firewalls, and instantly a surge of images hit him: A royal blue mech with white stripes and a yellow chevron. A host of medics doing experiments. Racing through the night. A hospital. The blue mech thrashing in pain. Two sparklings, one yellow and one red. The sparklings being held close. The blue mech dying. Sentinel Prime and a silver mech taking the sparklings away.

With the images came anger, grief, and despair. A lash of agony not entirely his own ripped through Sunstreaker, tearing into his circuits. Gasping, Sunstreaker felt their collective pain, desperation, and mourning. Suddenly, Prowl's arms were encircling Sunstreaker, and Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's clutched Prowl. As one they sank to the cold floor, collapsing in a heap together, tears of coolant streaking down their faces.

However, the images didn't stop: War. Destruction. Combat. The sparklings as adults — smiling, fighting, laughing, crying, mischievous, and _beloved_. Above the memories, above all the other feelings, was _love_ — deep, innate, abiding, unshakable, and unconditional.

The love barreled through the reality Sunstreaker thought he knew, smashing his assumptions, fears, and pain. Helpless against the expanding warmth and adoration pouring over the uplink, he sobbed. Prowl hugged him to his chest, pulling his helm to his bumper, and stroked his back as they all wept together. Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe's reactions, a perfect mirror of his own, and as one they hugged their genitors tightly and reached back into them —finding them both, feeling them, mixing with them — and poured back into them all their need, relief, affection, and desire for closeness. In response, a flood of Prowl's joy and acceptance crashed back into them, swamping their sparks.

For the longest time, they sat on the floor hugging each other, even after they disconnected their uplink. Sideswipe scooted around to Prowl's front side, and Prowl pulled him to his chest as well, letting both of them rest their helms on his bumper, one at each shoulder. He rubbed their backs lightly, dropping random kisses on their helms. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both kept one arm around Prowl's waist and snaked the other around each other. For the first time as a family, they offered comfort and affection to one another.

Sunstreaker floated in that warmth, halfway into recharge, until Prowl reluctantly pulled back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, "but we better get going. We don't want one of the squads to catch up with us."

Sitting up, Sideswipe leaned over and pressed a kiss to Prowl's cheek. "Okay." He stood and stretched. "Sucks though. I don't wanna go anywhere." He grinned and ambled over to the window, scanning the area.

Prowl smiled as he watched him move. "Nor I."

Forever jealous of the easy way his brother communicated with others, Sunstreaker sat up as well, wondering if Prowl's feelings for them were equal. Sideswipe was easy to love, but Sunstreaker knew he was hard to get to know.

Prowl glanced back at him and cupped his cheek. "Are you all right?"

Grasping the hand against his face, Sunstreaker squeezed it gently and dismissed his dark thoughts. "Sure." It wasn't much of an answer, but it wasn't a lie, either. The universe seemed oddly lighter to him. He leaned in, hesitated, then quickly kissed Prowl's other cheek. "Let's get to it, huh?" He stood and brushed at the dried energon stains on his paint.

A soft chuckle was his reply as Prowl climbed to his feet as well. "Let's. We spent too much time here, although I don't regret it. They're likely to catch up with us soon."

Sideswipe pulled his stolen rifle from subspace. "Well, they won't like it when they do."

Hesitating, Prowl seemed to concentrate hard on a blank spot on the floor.

"You okay?" Sunstreaker asked, worried.

"I dialed back the battle computer to fifty percent in hopes you could sense us both. It seems to have worked, but now it'll take me several kliks to adjust back." Prowl's doorwings perked up into their normal position. "Despite that, let's move out."

Sunstreaker nodded and followed him outside, wondering just how odd it had to be to carry two sparks at once. He couldn't quite imagine sharing a body with Sideswipe, although if it were the only way to keep his brother with him, he would do it.

Many more questions were left to be answered about his genitors.

oOoOo

Peering into Polyhex's debris-cluttered streets, Jazz motioned for his team — Smokescreen, Mirage, Ratchet, and Brawn — to take cover in the nearest abandoned building. Already they had faced three Decepticon patrols since breaching the southern perimeter; Shockwave's sentinels seemed to be choking the city's west side. Now Seekers cruised overhead at a low altitude, clearly in a search pattern.

::What do you think it means?:: Ratchet asked over their secure comm. link. He knelt by Jazz at the front window.

Jazz frowned, listening to the Seekers' engines as they roared directly over the building. ::Well, they might realize we're here, but I more think it means that Prowl and the twins have escaped.:: That was what he hoped, anyway.

::Knowing Prowl, that seems likely.:: Ratchet patted Jazz on the shoulder.

Jazz accepted what little comfort he could from the gesture. All he wanted was to be in Prowl's arms again, to see him safe and sound. His memory banks seemed to replay footage of Prowl nonstop: Prowl's little, understated smiles and Prowl's worried looks when Jazz felt rundown. He remembered in vivid detail the times Prowl had hugged him or held him when he was stretched thin, and he remembered equally well the times he'd stopped by Prowl's office to cheer him up or bring him energon. It was odd how all the most mundane things now seemed so important in the face of possibly never seeing Prowl again.

_I must save him,_ Jazz thought, his circuits burning with his desperation. Even if Prowl ultimately chose to date Optimus, Jazz could take that pain far, far more easily than Prowl's death. There wasn't even a comparison.

::Jazz!:: Smokescreen's comm. cut through his thoughts. ::I'm detecting movement in here.::

Brawn's voice, which sounded far too cheerful, shattered the silence. "Fire in the hole!" He tossed a sonic grenade into the far corner, where Jazz realized several pairs of crimson optics glowed. He barely had time to offline his audios before the grenade exploded, sending the Decepticon squad into an electrical seizure. They grasped at their audios as they collapsed, howling. Brawn and Smokescreen leveled their rifles, shooting them in order to assure they were deactivated.

"Primus, Brawn," Jazz muttered, "Ya almost didn't give us enough time to react." He sighed when Brawn failed to look chastised. "All right, move out!" He gestured to the door, and his team fell into line. They scanned the street and sky carefully before making their way out, but despite their caution, the roar of an engine immediately pressed upon them, reverberating so powerfully that their armor vibrated.

Flattop suddenly landed before them, having descended from the nearest roof, and towered over them. "Puny Autobots. Do you really think you can save your comrades?"

Rather than answering, Ratchet whipped a strange device from his subspace. It didn't look like much more than a black box with a stubby handle, but he aimed it at Flattop like the most lethal weapon in existence.

Flattop laughed. "Oh, scary!"

Smirking, Ratchet pulled the trigger, and Jazz watched with morbid fascination as Flattop crumpled to the ground without even a squeak. He turned toward Ratchet. "Hey, is that Wheeljack's new weapon?"

"Yep. And it seems to work, too." After subspacing the box, Ratchet bent over Flattop cautiously, pulling out a scanner and waving it over him. "Interesting. He's alive and offline, but his spark reading is very low. Assuming that his spark recovers properly, the weapon will be a success."

Suddenly Jazz decided Prowl's inherent distrust of spark-related devices was warranted. "That's deeply creepy, man."

"But in this case helpful." Ratchet straightened. "Well, we can ponder this all later."

"Yeah." Jazz gestured for his team to follow him again. "Move out. We have to find Prowl and the twins quick."

-o-

Crouching behind the remains of a toppled transport shuttle, Optimus Prime glanced down the street beyond. Already he and his team had torn through two squads of Shockwave's sentinels. Although Hound and Hoist were proceeding systematically, Ironhide and Bluestreak kept trying to race out in front, desperate to find the twins. Optimus understood their need, but it was no excuse to be foolish. "Stay down," he whispered as his mechs joined him, feeling certain that he'd seen a flash of glowing red down the street.

Sure enough, the slight bounce of luminous crimson optics pierced the darkness as four Decepticons slipped from the cover of one alleyway to another. Scanning them with his infrared vision, Optimus realized they were Whisper and Tailwind accompanied by two mechs he suspected were Nightflight and Storm Cloud. Signaling with his hands, Optimus motioned for his mechs to wind their way through the chunks of metal lining the street and approach the alley from both sides.

Ironhide led Hound in from the left, and Optimus led Hoist and Bluestreak in from the right. By holding up his hand and fisting it, Optimus indicated that they wait. After a klik, an injured Whisper peeked into the street, and apparently seeing nothing but debris, motioned his team forward. As soon as they cleared the alley, Optimus threw his comm. link open. ::Fire!::

He and his mechs trained their weapons upon these Decepticons who had masqueraded as Autobots and rained blaster fire upon them. Even though Whisper and his team tried to return fire, their shots bounced harmlessly off the metal debris, and one-by-one they fell. Optimus took no joy in watching them offline, but he couldn't help feeling relief to know they couldn't hurt Prowl and the twins any longer.

In truth, Optimus' thoughts were invaded by Prowl: his subtle smile, quiet care, calm friendship, and graceful doorwings. He loved everything about Prowl, and he was horrified that things between them had been left in such discord. More than anything, Optimus wanted to hold Prowl in his arms again, cup his cheek, kiss his lips, and keep him safe. Ultimately he wanted to paint his love all over Prowl's body and protect him forever, but he knew that decision was entirely Prowl's to make.

Holding in a sigh, Optimus tried to rein in his thoughts and gestured for his team to advance to the next street. However, he couldn't escape his wandering processor for long. Once more, the thought that Prowl might choose Jazz made Optimus ache, and the thought of a life without Prowl was crushing, suffocating. He could hardly pull air through his vents. To be shut out? Left on the outside? To only watch from afar? No, he wanted Prowl at his side where they could face the future together, both personally and professionally. He wanted to hold Prowl in his arms every night, even have a family together once the war was over. Thinking of a life without those things made Optimus' spark burn with loneliness and his frame throb with pain. He'd barely lived through his grief over Elita's death, and the thought of experiencing a similar grief over Prowl was unthinkable.

Even still, the choice had to be Prowl's, and Optimus loved him far too much to not honor his decision.

-o-

Exhaustion.

The summation of Prowl's existence had become exhaustion.

He dropped back into an attack stance, shifting his weight to his back leg and drawing up his arms defensively. Blackjack's squad, which consisted of Detour, Road Hugger, and an injured Hyperdrive, had caught up with them, and Blackjack circled Prowl while the twins held off the others. They had been fighting Shockwave's sentinels for a solid joor now, running into team after team in their flight toward the southern perimeter. At first, both the twins and Prowl had fought with gusto, all three of them exorcising their excess emotions on the enemy. Now, though, Prowl just wanted to be done with it.

"Did you really think you could escape?" Blackjack sneered, his crimson optics glowing in the night, the only part of his otherwise black body to stand out in the darkness. He circled Prowl slowly, jabbing punches at him in an attempt to get past his defenses.

Prowl found the red optics to be far more fitting on him. "There's no 'think' to it." He'd used more circuit-su in the last few orns than he had in millennia, but as a result he was able to call upon his spark energy more easily and fully. He feinted to the right, and as soon as Blackjack moved, swept his left leg up in a roundhouse kick, emptying a blast of spark energy into his helm. As Blackjack's head lit up with a silver flash, he flew backwards, clattering against the ground and skidding to a stop. Prowl stared down at the smoking, offline form and felt a moment's satisfaction; however, the emotion slipped away on the wind, leaving him empty.

Sighing, Prowl turned to the rest of their opponents, hoping that Optimus and Jazz had arrived with a rescue party. Despite what had passed between them, Prowl believed in his spark that they wouldn't hesitate to come after both him and the twins. Furthermore, as hurt as he still felt that they had turned on him, Prowl didn't have the energy left to feel rage. All Prowl desired in that moment was comfort. He needed normalcy in the face of too many sudden life changes and revelations. He wanted to be healed, to work past the wounds, to go on with his slagging life. He was tired of hurting, tired of being bitter, tired of feeling anger. For now, all he wanted was to hold and be held, to feel love again. What was more, Prowl knew he'd lost too much precious time with his sparklings, and he didn't feel like losing time with anyone else if it could be avoided.

However, first Prowl had to defeat the PSF, and Detour was headed his direction. Slipping past the twins, who were pummeling the other two agents, Detour grinned at Prowl as he neared. "_Sokii_ Prowl," he said, smirking. His Autobot emblem had been replaced by a Decepticon one. "Oh, I'm sorry. _Sokii_ Night Stalker _and_ Maverick." He snorted. "Circuit-su, huh? I see now how you defeated me earlier." He whipped his energy blade from subspace. "It won't happen again."

_Primus, not more of this slag,_ Prowl thought, unimpressed. "Shut up and let me offline you for good." He didn't often trash-talk his opponents, but his disgust toward Detour welled up inside him and oozed out.

Detour simply snickered and raised his blade, charging in.

-o-

Two joors. Jazz and his team had been sweeping Polyhex's streets for two joors and had yet to catch sight of Prowl and the twins. Jazz was beginning to panic, but he repressed the emotion brutally, knowing that he had to maintain control so he could lead.

It was, then, a mixed blessing to Jazz when sounds of a battle reached his audios. As much as he hoped it was Prowl and the twins, he feared Prowl was in danger. With barely maintained caution, he checked around the corner, and upon seeing Prowl and the twins fighting several Decepticons, he burst into action.

"Prowl!" Jazz broke into a run, only to halt in shock at what he was seeing. Prowl was fighting Detour, his blows accompanied by flashes of silver light, and Detour was folding up as though each hit were a shot from a cannon. He crumpled like a toy droid, his armor cracked and his internals smoking, and joined the heap of offline mechs strewn across the street.

Sunstreaker brushed off his paint flippantly, as though bored with fighting. "That was too easy."

"Yeah, so much for them," Sideswipe chimed in, grinning. He then seemed to notice Jazz and scanned the Autobots joining them.

Smokescreen shot past Jazz, hurdling himself into Sideswipe's arms and knocking them both to the ground. "Fraggin' Primus! I'm so glad you're safe."

Not bothering with words, Sideswipe kissed him soundly.

Although he wanted to mimic Smokescreen, Jazz managed to remember his duty first. "Hound, Hoist, Brawn — secure the area." He opened a comm. link to Optimus, and after a burst of static, it went through. ::Jazz to Prime. We've found them.::

::Hold your position! We're coming. Prime out.::

Prowl, who looked utterly exhausted, turned to face Jazz, his doorwings perking up slightly. His expression seemed half-hopeful and half-guarded, and Jazz thought his spark might break. _This_ was what he wanted, forever and always: to be with Prowl. Discarding all military decorum, Jazz ran to him, throwing his arms around him and hugging him tightly. Without hesitation, Prowl returned the embrace, and Jazz felt as though he could weep with joy. He had thought he'd never feel those warm arms around him again, and his plating seemed to burn everywhere their bodies touched. "I'm so glad yer alive and safe," he whispered, burying his face into Prowl's neck and inhaling his scent deeply. "Please forgive me for bein' such an aft. I love ya, Prowler!"

Despite the sudden, uncomfortable silence between them, Prowl's hand stroked the length of Jazz's canopy, tracing the slope. "I _do_ love you, too," he finally murmured against Jazz's helm. "And I've already forgiven you. The question is whether you forgive me. I believe I may be able explain all this now because — "

"Of course I forgive ya!" Jazz leaned back, taking in the exhaustion and pain etched over Prowl's face. The sight made his spark ache. "Don't worry about that right now. I'm just glad to have ya back; we can figure out the rest later." He leaned up and kissed him, desperate to both feel Prowl's lips on his own again and ease some of Prowl's pain.

Although Prowl pressed into the kiss at first, he suddenly broke away and glanced around. "We really shouldn't do this in front of the troops."

"I don't think they'll notice." Jazz had to smile. Sideswipe and Smokescreen were lip-locked and oblivious to the rest of universe. Sunstreaker was pointedly staring the other way from both couples, and Hound and Hoist hadn't returned yet, although their voices echoed through the alleyways.

"Fair enough." Prowl leaned down and captured Jazz's lips, kissing him more deeply, and Jazz poured all his relief and love into that kiss, trying to show him just how he felt. When Prowl slipped his glossa past his lips, Jazz moaned and caressed it with his own, wanting to drink in his love.

A catcall caused them to jerk away from each other far sooner than they wanted, and Brawn's voice spoiled their moment: "You better stop your smooching! Prime's team is incoming."

Prowl released Jazz and straightened his posture, his doorwings hiking up in a picture of offended dignity. Amused, Jazz started to tease him, but before he could say anything, Bluestreak screeched around the corner in his alt mode, transformed only an arm's length from Sunstreaker, and catapulted himself into his arms.

"Sunny!" Bluestreak hugged him so hard their armor creaked.

Although he didn't reply, Sunstreaker embraced him just as tightly, kissing him without hesitation.

Optimus barreled around the corner next, screeching to a messy halt in front of Prowl and transforming. "Prowl! Are you all right?" He glanced over at the twins, as though to assure himself they were functional, then met Prowl's gaze.

A small smile tugged at Prowl's lips. "I am now, sir."

Internally, Jazz flinched. It was a sign and symbol that there was still a lot to work out, but he tried to mentally table it for now. They had Prowl back, and that was what mattered most.

-o-

Once everyone was safely aboard Omega Supreme and they were headed back to Earth, Optimus checked with Ratchet concerning the rescued mechs. Minus Prowl, they were piled in the cargo hold, drinking their energon rations and talking about the battle. Their boisterous voices and laughter rolled across the deckplates and bounced off the walls, making Prime smile behind his battle mask. Sideswipe stood in the center, sloppily reenacting some fancy martial arts moves that Optimus had never seen him use before, and he had to wonder who he was imitating. However, he set aside that question in order to corner Ratchet by the doorway. "How are they?"

Ratchet was leaning against the bulkhead, his arms crossed over his boxy chest and a smile playing about his lips as he watched the twins. "Better than I feared, sir. Sideswipe is fine, only underfueled. Sunstreaker's spark seems to be recovering from something I can't quite identify, and his energy levels are low. Still, he doesn't appear to be in danger. Prowl checks out fine, too." He met Prime's gaze momentarily. "I don't think the real damage here is physical. They're all acting oddly, with Sunstreaker and Prowl even more tightlipped than usual. I have no idea what happened to them, but I'll be watching them for post-traumatic shock."

"Thank you." Worried, Optimus couldn't withstand any longer the pressure of being separated from Prowl. Knowing where he had disappeared to, Prime retreated into the cockpit and locked the door behind him. "Prowl . . ."

Turning away from Omega's monitor, Prowl gave Optimus a sad smile. "I just needed a moment alone to collect myself, sir. Too much happened too quickly, and I feel overwhelmed."

Optimus paused, wondering if he were intruding and yet desperate to hold Prowl closely. "Would you like me to leave, then, and give you some peace?"

"No." Prowl's small smile grew even sadder. "I've been too much alone. I . . ." He gave Optimus a desperate, searching look. "Like a said, I really just needed a moment; the yelling and laughter were too much for me. Sorry, sir."

Wasting not a moment more, Optimus strode across the deckplates and swept Prowl into his arms, embracing him tightly and nearly lifting him off his feet. "No need to apologize," he whispered, opening his battle mask. "And don't call me 'sir' right now." He pressed a kiss to Prowl's helm before tucking it under his chin, and he rubbed Prowl's back with one hand, squeezing him gently. "Primus, I love you so much. I can't apologize enough."

Prowl shuddered faintly and wound his arms around his waist. "Please don't ever do that to me again. I can't tell you how much it hurt for you — and Jazz! — to withdraw your support and renounce me publically."

"I'm so sorry." Optimus pulled back slightly so their gazes could meet. "I promise to never treat you with such disrespect again. Even though it did seem that you had been emotionally compromised, I handled it extremely poorly. I was reacting out of personal feelings, and that is unacceptable."

For a long moment, Prowl said nothing, seeming to search his gaze. "I forgive you. Do you forgive me?"

"Of course." Optimus' entire spark swelled in his chest, pulsing waves of relief and love through his lines. Before he could stop himself, he leaned down a pressed a kiss to Prowl's forehelm. When Prowl didn't pull away, he rained gentle kisses upon his face: each of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. Those lips were warm and soft against Prime's, but also insistent, returning his kiss with sudden force. Optimus moaned faintly, pulling Prowl flush to his body, and captured his lower lip, suckling it. Prowl sucked his upper lip in return, and their hands began to wander, Prowl's tracing the contours of Prime's back and Optimus' stroking the length of Prowl's doorwings.

With a gasp, Prowl broke the kiss. "Optimus . . ."

"You're so beautiful," Optimus whispered, gently fondling one doorwing's tip. Prowl twisted in his arms, pressing into the touch, his lips parting in a moan. Prime was sure he'd never seen anything so gorgeous. Still, he knew he was pushing too far and relocated his hand to Prowl's cheek, cupping it. "I love you with all my spark. Regardless of what happens next, please know that."

Prowl's optics dimmed, a frown tugging his lips. "I love you, too, and please never doubt it. The complication I was talking about . . . I think I can explain it now. I have a small shred of proof and can — "

"It's all right." Optimus brushed his thumb over Prowl's lips to quiet him. "We can discuss it later. It's enough to have you safely in my arms." And even though there was still a lot to discuss, that was truth.

His frown easing into a tentative smile, Prowl nodded. In that moment, Optimus wanted nothing more than to never see that frown again, and he swore to himself he would do all he could to keep Prowl's smile intact.

oOoOo

In Darkmount's command center, Shockwave glared at the heap of offline mechs his sentinels had dragged back to base. On his left lay Blackjack, Detour, Road Hugger, and Hyperdrive, while on his right lay Nightflight, Storm Cloud, Whisper, and Tailwind. Collapsed between the two piles was Flattop.

"The Autobots apparently tested the prototype of a new weapon upon some of them," the blue sentinel said, his tone monotone and flat. "A scan did not reveal the nature of the damage, only that they are offline and can't yet be brought back online."

Internally, Shockwave chaffed at the lack of efficiency and intelligence that the ex-PSF mechs represented. Externally, he failed to react. "Given how driven they were, I find their failure disappointing," he remarked blandly. "The Autobots should not have escaped."

"Shall I scrap them, sir?" The sentinel turned and gestured to his team of automatons, beckoning two dozen forward.

Shockwave canted his boxy helm to the side. "Unnecessary. This is a perfect time to test the Micromaster project. Have them sent to the labs for reformatting."

"Yes, sir." The sentinel waved to his subordinates, who picked up the mechs and hauled them away. Once that had been accomplished, he turned back to Shockwave. "Does this delay or alter our plans, sir?"

"Hardly." Shockwave suffered a moment's smugness, the kind associated with a particularly sound plan. "Blackjack and his mechs did bring me back a touch of useful intel. Furthermore, I've already spoken with Starscream and contacted Megatron, both of whom predictably have taken the bait. Everything is proceeding on schedule. Send out the summons. It's time for me to give my speech."

The sentinel paused, the closest he could come to betraying shock. "But did Whisper collect enough data on those twins?"

"Enough to serve my purposes." Shockwave turned to his monitor in clear dismissal. "I can finish analyzing the data in a single orn. Now go."

"Yes, sir!" The sound of the sentinel's caterpillar tracks rumbling across the steel floor echoed as he exited the room.

Shockwave pulled up Whisper's data and assessed the point he'd reached. "Rank amateurs," he sighed to himself, wondering not for the first time why no one else was as competent, logical, and intelligent as he was. Had his creators truly been so visionary?

Cybertron was full of sheer fools and therefore his to rule by sparkright.

* * *

_Postscript: Although it is up for consideration in this story, the metaphysics of sparks and spark memories are something I plan to delve more into in the sequel for "Loveless," assuming I can find time to write it._


	11. From the Beginning

_A/N: Thank you to everyone for your reviews, and I apologize both for not getting out PMs this time and for the delay. November has been a really rough month for me, and for a solid week, my muse totally collapsed._

_FYI, there's another scene experiment in this chapter._

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_**Chapter 11: Ab Initio  
**__**or From the Beginning **_

In the medbay, Prowl lay on his berth and stared at the ceiling. Ratchet had insisted that Prowl, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe all be rescanned in minute detail, determined to find out what happened to them and to verify they were truly all right. Currently, Ratchet was with Sunstreaker, and Hoist was with Sideswipe. Wheeljack had gotten Prowl settled in a private room, then indicated he should rest until Ratchet came to reevaluate him.

Left alone, Prowl found himself ruminating, his thoughts playing in an endless loop. _To have a relationship with my sparklings, I'll have to reveal who — and what — I am. To resolve the tension between Optimus, Jazz, and me, I'll have to reveal who I am. The time has come. But what if they can't accept me? I can't even imagine how I would feel in their place._ He hands began to tremble faintly, and he clasped them on his abdomen in an attempt to still them. _What if this ruins everything? Not just my potential relationships, but even the friendship I have with them? I'm going to effectively rearrange their worldviews._ Fear began seeping into his circuits, unleashing a cold burn, but in contrast, the room seemed to grow uncomfortably warm.

Prowl tried to focus his thoughts elsewhere, even made himself notice the most mundane details: the ceiling was punctured by a stalactite in the left corner, and the power conductor in the far right overhead light was flickering faintly. However, his efforts were in vain; his sensor nodes began tingling with growing panic. He was saved from further dark thoughts by Optimus and Jazz's slipping into the room. Already tense, he jerked upright, intending to stand and greet them, but Prime motioned for him to not get up.

"How are you feeling?" Optimus asked, stopping at the berth's foot.

"Tired," Prowl answered honestly. _And terrified._

Jazz glanced at Optimus, then back at Prowl. "Maybe we should wait till tomorrow to talk, then. We don't wanna make ya feel worse or anythin'."

"I'm not that bad off." Prowl directed his next words to Prime. "You'd like a briefing?" At least briefings were safely routine.

Optimus shook his head. "The quick one you gave me on the trip back will do for now." He stepped around the berth and patted Prowl's arm. "Jazz and I both have the impression, though, that there's something else you'd like to tell us."

Prowl stared at them, realizing what they were alluding to. The moment had arrived: the thing he never thought he _could_ explain, never imagined he would explain, he now had to. Logistically, his processor insisted that he had evidence. Emotionally, he knew that all the evidence in the universe couldn't make them accept what he was. "Oh." He gathered his courage and decided to be blunt. "I hardly know how to begin."

Jazz came around to his other side and squeezed his hand. "It's okay. I mean, we finished decodin' those service records and figured out that yer Night Stalker. And that makes ya the twins' uncle."

"That was quite a surprise," Optimus admitted. "And it was also surprising to learn you're so young. I never imagined that my SIC was just 17 vorns older than Bluestreak or the twins."

Giving Prowl's hand another squeeze before releasing it, Jazz smiled at him tentatively. "Yeah, I always thought ya and me were the same age. I mean, it's what yer records say." He shook his head, sounding almost fascinated. "Man, we could've given _you_ a spark-date party not so long ago, huh?"

Embarrassed, Prowl grimaced faintly. "I suppose so." He glanced at Prime. "Please keep in mind, though, that I served in the PSF for vorns before I was ever upgraded into an adult. I might be young, but I still have a decent amount of experience."

"I know," Optimus said in simple acknowledgement, but then his tone turned more somber. "We also read about what happened."

Jazz's voice grew soft. "Yeah, we saw that yer brother died, too." He frowned. "Sorry, Prowler. You've been through alotta slag."

"And you could have told us," Optimus said gently. No accusation laced his tone, only honesty. "What did you fear? That we wouldn't believe you? That you would look insane? Or that it would endanger your nephews?"

Prowl laughed, but it was mirthless — more like an explosion of irony. "At the _very_ least, I feared I'd look insane, and I _always_ worried it would endanger the twins." If they were going to get angry at him for not confessing his entire life upfront, there wasn't much he could do. It had less to do with who he did or didn't trust and more to do with unlikely stories, intolerable situations, and near panic. "And although I can see how you'd draw your conclusions, Jazz, you're not entirely right."

Jazz traded a look with Optimus. "Well, I realized I was makin' a bit of a leap. Why? Where'd I get it wrong?"

Prowl hesitated, terrified the most about the next part; the threat of the Swarm and the destruction and horror it had caused had resulted in a severe taboo against not only budding but also the sharing of too-similar sparkcode. However, there was no use in hiding it any longer. "During the study, Maverick and I were only younglings, and, even in a normal situation, split-spark twins have to share spark energy to maintain health." He hoped they wouldn't press him on that little detail yet. "Maverick and I were ill, however, and in the course of trying to heal each other, we had an . . . accident." He flinched, his entire frame burning with the mortification and shame of his revelation. "It was odd, uncomfortable, and most definitely a mistake." He inhaled through his vents shakily. "But the result is something we would never take back: Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

Optimus' and Jazz's optics flared bright, and a tense, suffocating silence descended upon the room. Prowl could hear both the medical monitor by his berth and the overhead lights buzzing, a sound that suddenly became deafening. After a moment, Optimus dropped his gaze to the floor, his optics narrowing, and Jazz held up one hand, opening his mouth to speak, but then said nothing.

_Primus,_ Prowl thought, his spark dimming. _We're not even going to get past this moment. I just ruined everything._ The weight of his entire life seemed to crush him.

Finally, Optimus broke the silence. "Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are _your_ sparklings?" His voice wasn't much more than a stunned whisper. "You're the sparker, and your brother was the carrier?"

Prowl's doorwings hiked high on his back, trembling with stress. "It was an _accident,_" he reiterated, desperate to defend himself in some way. "And it only happened the once." He grimaced, knowing how flimsy his logic sounded. "Of course, without SMERs, it only took once." The air caught in his vents as they all grew silent again.

"That's a lot to take in," Jazz mumbled after a klik, crossing his arms over his abdomen and sounding both bewildered and hurt. "I've gotta say . . . after all this, I'm beginning to feel like I don't really know much about ya."

Prowl flinched, wounded. How was that accusation fair? "Of course you know me. You know the me of _now._ I don't know much about your past, either, Jazz. Only that you climbed out of abject poverty to apply to the Autobot Academy and stole to stay alive."

"Hey!" Jazz dropped his arms, sounding even more hurt. "Ya always said ya don't care about my past."

"Exactly my point." Prowl frowned, worried he was going to destroy his relationship with both Optimus and Jazz with nothing other than a series of simple truths. "I don't care who you _were_ or what you did to survive. You're not proud of what you did, and I'm not proud of what I did. But I would never judge you or say that I don't know you."

"And we're not here to judge you," Optimus said quietly, holding out one hand as though he could calm them all with a gesture. "We're just shocked. It might take a while to process all of this."

Bowing his head, Jazz nodded. "Yeah, Prowler. I didn't mean to sound judgmental. I'm just . . . really stunned here."

"Then you can understand why I didn't want to discuss any of this." Prowl's doorwings snapped back as a flash of rage struck his tanks like lightning. He'd met and superseded his stress threshold. "You know what? Let's _not_ discuss this. It doesn't get any better from here, and after being publically shamed, abducted, studied like a specimen, and fighting my way free, I'm really not up for anything more." The words came out far more biting than he'd intended, but he didn't retract them.

Suddenly silent, Jazz jerked faintly and kept his stare on the floor.

However, Optimus straightened his shoulders. "I can see why you say that, and in your place I'd probably feel the same. But it would be better if we work this out right now. The time for secrecy has passed, and enough damage has been done already. If we let it go on any longer, it will only grow toxic, poisoning us against each other."

Realizing he couldn't deny that conclusion, Prowl inhaled deeply through his vents, steeling himself. "Fine. There's more. You see, I never told anyone because I thought it would help keep the PSF away from my sparklings. I was entered into Witness Protection, and the twins were given to an adoptive creator who could protect them. Being paranoid, I kept the secret all this time, hoping to stop exactly what happened. Frankly, I failed at the thing I was most determined to succeed in."

"Oh, _Prowl_ . . ." Optimus sounded almost spark-broken for him.

Jazz's gaze snapped up to him. "No ya didn't! Please don't be so hard on yerself."

At the sound of their compassion, Prowl's composed façade shattered as the sick irony hit him again. Everything he'd sacrificed, everything he'd worked for, had been in vain. "Oh yes I did. This fragging disaster is exactly what I was trying to stop!" He slammed one fist into the medberth. "I gave my sparklings up, let someone else rear them, spent my life separated from them — all to protect them. But why? For what?" He pushed to his feet, stalking away and glaring at the wall. "The PSF came and got them anyway! They were tortured, and if we hadn't escaped, they'd have been killed. Or at least Sunstreaker would have been." As he neared the wall, he punched it, accidentally cycling a burst of spark energy from his fist and blasting a small crater into it. "Primus damn it! I almost lost them anyway." His lips trembled with his sudden effort not to cry, and coolant pooled in his optics as his processor overheated with stress.

Quiet footsteps crossed the floor behind him, and then a gentle hand squeezed his shoulder. "Prowler . . . I'm sorry. I can't even imagine."

Prowl turned to face Jazz. "No. You can't." He pulled away. "I think that's why it hurt so much when both of you turned on me prior to the abduction." Even though he'd forgiven them, the memory stung. However, he had to be honest with himself about his own choices as well. "I'm not saying I've made all the right decisions in how I handed this, and what happened in the past between Maverick and me was blatantly a mistake." It still felt odd to discuss Maverick in the third person. "But neither one of you can tell me that you would've done better in my place or that you'd have told me your story upfront. You can't know that, and I pray you never will know."

Dropping his hand, Jazz shrank away from him a step. "I'm really not tryin' to judge ya, I promise. I just hope ya know that ya _can_ trust me. I mean, I know what happened at that briefing was . . . " He trailed off, grimacing. "Wrong. Very wrong. But I think ya did the best ya could to protect yer sparklings, and I'd like to think I'd do the same in yer place."

Walking around the berth to Prowl, Optimus reached out and briefly squeezed his upper arm. "Yes, I agree with Jazz. You did the best you could, and you _did_ save them in the end. They're back home safe now. Please try to focus on that and not punish yourself."

Although he appreciated their words, Prowl didn't feel any better about the situation. He rubbed his helm as though he could push past the metal and ease the processor pain. "I don't know. Half of it doesn't even make sense to me anymore." If anything, the longer he thought about his actions, the more confused he became. "But that's not my point. My first point is that the twins are mine." He paused, wondering if they could even handle the rest of the truth. Still, the time for transparency had come, for better or worse. "My second point is that I'm not a 'me.' I'm a 'we.'"

"Huh?" Jazz's visor dimmed in obvious bewilderment.

Optimus seemed equally perplexed. "What do you mean you're a 'we'?"

For a moment, Prowl couldn't force himself to continue. The hum of the medbay's lights filled the silence as Optimus and Jazz stared at him, both of them obviously stunned yet again. In the distance, Prowl could hear disembodied laughter, faint and incongruous compared to the stifling atmosphere of his private room. Outside, the universe was proceeding normally, oblivious to the drama unfolding between Prowl and his two loved ones. He began to wonder if life would ever be normal again.

Prowl glanced between them, trying to figure out how to reveal the next part and suspecting he might fry a few relays in their processors. Perhaps his choice to tell the truth had been ill-advised after all. "There is a fundamental truth about split-spark twins that can't be erased: they are two halves of one spark and are therefore inseparable." He was dropping so much information on them at once, he felt vaguely like a talking textfile. "The experiment didn't change that. Originally, if one twin dies, the other dies also. Thanks to the experiment, now if one dies, there are two options: either they both go to the Matrix, or they both remain alive."

"_What?_" Optimus leaned forward, as though he could physically push closer to clarity and understanding.

"No way!" Jazz reared backward instead as though he were fending off further shock. "Yer not serious!"

Prowl realized Jazz had come to the essence of it. "That's right. 'Prowl' exists only because Maverick didn't cross over into the Matrix." He hesitated, giving them a moment to comprehend what he was saying. "I am both Night Stalker _and_ Maverick."

A second thick silence fell upon the room, so intense it was like sinking to the ocean floor. _And here's the moment of truth,_ Prowl thought, a strange fatalism encompassing him. He couldn't control their reactions; it was all out of his hands now. He couldn't change who or what he was, so they would either accept him or not.

Jazz found his voice first. "Both? _Both?_ Maverick's in there, too?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes. First of all, you need to understand that when I speak, I speak as both Night Stalker and Maverick. Simultaneously. All the time." He paused again, uncomfortable with how bizarre his situation sounded. "However, for the sake of making this conversation easier, I've been implying I'm Night Stalker since you learned Maverick died."

"I — what —" Backing up a step, Jazz suddenly turned and stalked across the room. He stopped at the medical monitor, staring pointedly at it as though the secrets of the universe were held there.

_I'm losing him,_ Prowl thought, and part of him screamed out in fear and denial.

Optimus stepped closer, his shoulders tensing. "I'm not sure I truly understand. Maverick . . . what? Recombined with Night Stalker?"

Prowl tried to compose himself again, deciding to answer much like he were conveying sensitive information during a briefing. "Yes, our sparks merged back together." He pulled together his frazzled circuits, trying to present the knowledge succinctly. "Let me be blunt here. In a sense, Prowl is not a 'real' mech. Prowl is an artificial construct created by the battle computer. My personality programming, emotional subroutines, and logic circuits all pass through the battle computer because the medics decided my best chance for a normal life was to force Maverick and Night Stalker to mentally merge. Prior to that, we simply took turns controlling Night's body."

For a moment, Optimus didn't react, then he reached up to press his fingers to Prowl's cheek, touching him so faintly it was like he expected him to fracture and shatter all over the floor. "You're not really _you_ at all," he whispered, sounding almost awed.

Horrified by Prime's words, Prowl let his optics dim and glanced away, staring at the medberth. He noticed a crescent moon-shaped scratch in its surface and wondered randomly how it had gotten there. "And yet I am," he insisted, once again desperate to defend himself. "With only two exceptions, which were caused by damage to the battle computer, I've been Prowl every orn for ten millennia now." He snapped his gaze back to Prime. "I almost refused to join the Autobots over that. I didn't _choose_ to be combined this way, and they didn't get my permission. Once I was released from the hospital, I told them to all go to the Pit."

The change of topic seemed to break through Jazz's deep thoughts. He turned away from the monitor, pinning his gaze upon Prowl. "Then . . . how did ya end up an Autobot?"

Prowl lifted and lowered his doorwings in a shrug. "Power Run."

Jazz frowned and crossed the room again, stopping just out of arm's reach. "I've heard of him, but I've never met him. What'd he do?"

"He was my friend." For a moment, Prowl wasn't in the present any longer. He was in the past, pouring out his hurt and rage to his only remaining acquaintance. "He was so angry on my behalf he lodged a formal complaint that Sentinel Prime _actually_ took notice of." Prowl had forgiven Sentinel with time, but he'd never learned to like him. "An inquiry resulted, followed by a court martial." Suddenly, Prowl remembered all too well being in that conference room for the closed trial, arguing passionately from the makeshift witness stand. "My voice was heard: mechs were punished, and policies were changed. Then I realized that the CAF wasn't like the PSF. I decided to join and climb the ranks. That way if I found something unjust, I could push to have it changed. I could make a _difference_."

Optimus nodded. "That's the way it should be. I know I wouldn't allow such a breach of patient rights to occur under my command."

Jazz stepped close again, fascination coloring his tone as he spoke. "Suddenly, yer strict adherence to the rules — and yer zealous challengin' of rules ya hate — makes tons of sense."

"That's right. I've never stopped." Prowl crossed his arms under his bumper. The truth was that his core values and identity had formed around justice. He had supported countless experiments during his career, but only because he ensured the rules and regulations concerning the ethical treatment of research subjects were upheld. He made sure rules of all kinds were followed for a _reason_; it was hardly the random nitpicking others claimed.

None of that, however, was the essence of what he needed Optimus and Jazz to understand.

Optimus sighed. "Prowl . . . I'm not sure I know how to react to all of this. In fact, I'm not even sure what this means, exactly."

Prowl mentally fumbled, trying to figure out a way to explain his situation better. "Well, merging our emotions doesn't erase who we are. All those times I've frozen up or my battle computer has crashed? It happens when Night Stalker and Maverick violently disagree on my next course of action. The balance created by the battle computer isn't perfect. It's roughly 60 percent Night to 40 percent Maverick; however, Mav is highly passionate and opinionated. A direct 50/50 clash is both possible and inevitable."

"Ya lock up because ya've got an internal disagreement?" Jazz now sounded truly fascinated, although a bit surprised.

"Exactly." Prowl held out his hands. "If I turned off the battle computer or powered it down significantly, you could actually still talk to either Night Stalker or Maverick. We're not so fully merged that we're totally blended. Our separate identities haven't been destroyed." _It doesn't change the fact we can't talk with each other, though,_ he added to himself, having never been able to achieve peace on that count.

"Really? I would never have guessed such a thing was possible," Optimus murmured, clearly struggling with all that had been revealed. "In fact, all our Science and Medical mechs will probably fry circuits trying to process this."

For a brief moment, Prowl almost had to smile imagining their reactions. "No doubt."

Once again, Jazz seemed to jump to the evitable conclusion. "Yer tellin' us all this because it has somethin' to do with bein' in love with us both, aren't ya?"

Prowl finally did smile, even if it were faint and sad. "Yes. In short, we _together_ are Prowl, so 'I' am in love with both of you because 'I' am a 'we.'" He faced Jazz, silently begging him to understand. "Maverick is in love with you, Jazz." He turned to Prime, praying he would understand as well. "And Night Stalker is in love with you, Optimus." He glanced between them. "We love each of you with _equal_ force and passion, and we want to be with you with equal determination. The problem is not resolvable. Maverick will _not_ give up Jazz, and Night Stalker will _not_ give up Optimus."

After a pause, Jazz shook his head with a strange, bewildered smile. "Of all the reasons ya could've had, this is the last thing I would've imagined. I can barely comprehend it." He seemed to pull himself together. "So whadda we do now?"

Optimus seemed to snap into problem-solving mode as well. "Yes, how could something this bizarre be approached? Because honestly I see no solutions."

Stricken, Prowl wondered if the moment had come, and in his fear, his energon pounded through his lines. Was he going to lose them both now? "Well, as I see it, there are only two options." He tried to sound calm, reasonable. "The first one is that we don't date at all and don't take the chance of failing. The command structure isn't threatened, and life eventually returns to normal." This was perhaps the biggest external issue: what would happen to the command structure if they broke up.

"You make a good point." Optimus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "We can't afford to jeopardize the safety of this base. If we decide to move forward with this, we must be careful to behave professionally even if we fail."

Jazz frowned. "We didn't get to our current positions by bein' irresponsible or immature. Let's not sell ourselves short."

"It still bears thought." Prowl steeled himself to continue with his explanation. "Option two is that I can dial back the battle computer as far as I can and still maintain coherency — in other words, to about 30 percent — and let Maverick and Night Stalker take turns controlling our body." He had to admit that he wished to try dating. All his self-denial had gained him nothing, and he was deeply tired of being alone. "I would only do this during off-hours, of course, and specifically only during dates. It will take three joors for my cache to clear enough for one brother or the other to take charge, but fortunately, I can reintegrate much more quickly than that once I power back up to 100 percent."

"Wait, what?" Jazz cocked his head as though trying to wrap his processor around the words. "Ya can't just . . . change?"

Prowl shook his head. "It's not that easy. Not with the way my programming passes through the battle computer. My rather considerable cache has to sort and clear. If I reboot, I can clear it in three joors. If I don't reboot, it takes six joors."

"But if we're attacked?" Optimus asked, obviously concerned. "We can't put either you or the base in danger."

Prowl knew it was a valid question. "It takes about five kliks to reintegrate, but in the event of an emergency neither Mav nor Night is helpless. We were officers in the PSF, after all, and we also have all the collected knowledge and experience of Prowl. For those five kliks, we would be able to function still."

"Less than a breem . . ." Optimus seemed to ponder the problem. "I suppose that's acceptable, then, if — "

"Let's not miss the obvious," Jazz interrupted. "What about _bonding_? I don't know 'bout you two, but I don't wanna date forever. What if we decide to step it up?"

Prowl had no answer for that. "I suspect we'll have to consult with Ratchet." He frowned, worried. "Maybe even Alpha Trion. Since I figured I'd never bond, I haven't researched how it might be accomplished."

"Makes sense." Jazz crossed his arms over his bumper and rubbed idly at one elbow joint. "No offense, Prowler, but this is allota info, and I need some time to process it. 'kay?"

Prowl's doorhinges ached from the strain of holding them too tensely. He met Optimus' gaze, remembering the way they had stormed off the night they learned he was in love with them both. "Are you going to rush off and abandon me?"

Stepping forward, Optimus cupped his cheek, rubbing his thumb over his cheek seam. "We're not abandoning you, Prowl," he said gently, dropping his hand. "We just can't come to an immediate decision. Not only do I need to process all you've told me, I also have to consider the potential fallout should our attempted relationships fail. Please, give me time. Give both of us time."

"I understand." Prowl schooled himself to be reasonable, even if it hurt. "I guess I need time to think, too." Letting his doorwings slump, he trudged over to his berth, sitting down.

"Ya need time to rest," Jazz corrected. He walked over and patted his back soothingly. "Please recharge." With that, Prime and he left the room.

Prowl stared at the wall, unsure how to feel. What he'd proposed was unheard of, after all. He shouldn't expect them to swallow it and rush forward instantly. At the same time, he feared his essential self would be ultimately rejected, and as a result he'd never find love.

He was a freak, after all.

The distinct _clank_ of footsteps on metal deckplates interrupted his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder as Sideswipe peeked into his room. He felt a smile tug his lips as faint burn alerted his spark to his offsprings' presence. Ever since he'd shared his memories with the twins, he'd been able to faintly sense them. "Come in."

Sideswipe grinned and bounded into the room, a more sedate Sunstreaker on his heels. "Hi, genie!"

Prowl cringed good-naturedly. He'd always hated the nickname 'genie,' although he was happy that Sideswipe wanted to refer to him as his genitor at all. "'Genie?'"

Sunstreaker snorted, but Sideswipe just laughed. "Sure! Why not?"

"Primus," Sunstreaker muttered. He stepped up to Prowl's medberth and hovered by his arm, shifting uneasily from foot-to-foot. "We finally got the all-clear. How're you?"

Prowl sighed heavily. "Not so well."

Sideswipe was at his other elbow in an instant. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Smiling at the concern, Prowl reached out to both of them, taking their hands and squeezing them. "I told my story to Prime and Jazz." His smile faded, falling from his lips. "They're having a hard time accepting I'm two mechs."

Squeezing on the berth beside him, Sideswipe released his hand so he could run an arm around his waist. "I guess that _would_ be weird, but I'm sure they'll come around. I mean, they're your friends."

"Wait a klik," Sunstreaker said, squeezing the hand he held between both his own. "Let me guess: Maverick is in love with one and Night Stalker the other, right?"

Prowl glanced up at him, startled. He hadn't discussed this part with them, although he had once mentioned having issues with love. "Yes."

"It only makes sense," Sunstreaker said bluntly. "If I died and recombined with Sides, I wouldn't stop loving Blue. That means Sideswipe, or rather us together, would love Blue and Smokey both at the same time."

Sideswipe inhaled sharply, as though in sudden realization. "Oh. _Yeah._ That would be a problem." He hugged Prowl more tightly, and Prowl slipped his arm around him in return. "So do they love you, too?"

"Well, yes." Prowl realized that might not be the case for long. They might love him as a friend still, but his chance at romance may have passed.

Sunstreaker squeezed onto the other side of the berth and hugged him as well. "Give 'em time." He snorted. "And tell us if you want us to beat some sense into them."

Prowl chuckled faintly and embraced Sunstreaker in return. "Well, I don't know about that. But I'll keep your offer in mind anyway."

Sideswipe laughed. "Ah, it might be good for them."

Prowl felt his dark mood lifting. As much as he wanted them to accept him for who he was, he truly couldn't control Jazz's and Prime's reactions, nor was he responsible for their decisions in any way.

To the best of his ability, Prowl tried to set aside his worry and enjoy his sparklings' visit.

oOoOo

At the _Ark's_ firing range, which had been built outside at the volcano's base, Optimus Prime watched his best friend at rifle practice. Ironhide loved practicing more than any mech Optimus had ever known, and as a result, many of their best conversations tended to occur when the range was otherwise empty.

On this particular orn, Optimus had found himself pouring out all his intense confusion, new knowledge, and scattered feelings as Ironhide tore through endless computer-generated targets. "And that's basically the sum of it," he said, concluding his story. Or, rather, Prowl's story. "Now I have no idea what to think, much less what to do." His spark positively ached, almost as though someone had died.

"I'm practically speechless here." Glancing his way, Ironhide shook his head. "That's the most fragged up thing I've ever heard."

Behind his mask, Optimus frowned. Ironhide was terribly blunt at times. "He's still Prowl." _I think._ In some ways, he wasn't entirely sure. "Frankly, I don't know what to do."

Taking aim again, Ironhide fired, hitting just to the left of the golden square that was the current target's bull's eye. "Keep talkin'. Ya ain't gonna figure out a battle plan by stewin' in yer own processor."

On the flip side, Ironhide always knew what Optimus needed. "Very well. Let's set aside the conflicts inherent in dating for a moment and look at the future." He shifted his weight to the other foot, feeling restless. He really did need a plan of action. "Could Prowl and I bond? How would that even work?"

"Nucleus Bond?" Ironhide took aim again.

"Like in ancient times?" Optimus had to hold back a shudder. "What, am I supposed to be one of those early Primes or nobles who had twenty bondmates?" The thought nearly fried his processor. He'd believed in monogamy his entire life, and history taught that the more bondmates one had, the more strain it put on the spark of the mech acting as the Nucleus. It wasn't like with Seeker trines, which had been specially developed in ancient times for a specific purpose.

Ironhide fired and cursed when he didn't hit the bull's eye. He lowered the rifle and peered at Optimus. "Nah, don't be that way. It would be three. No, four. Night Stalker, Maverick, Jazz, and ya. And if Prowl's got two sparks in there, like ya say, then it ain't gonna strain him none to be the Nucleus."

-o-

"I'm not sure that the amount of _strain_ is the issue." Jazz paused in his pacing only long enough to glare at both his visitors, although Blaster was immune. Irritated, he resumed pacing the length of his quarters. When something was upsetting him, sitting still was impossible. He considered sparring or taking a drive — something, anything, to burn up his excess energy. But more than that, he was at the stage where he needed advice on which direction to go, and so he'd called his two best friends, Blaster and Bumblebee, to his quarters and told them most of the story. However, right now he was rethinking his strategy, given the advice they were giving him. "I mean, seriously. Nucleus bonds?" he asked, incredulous.

After several kliks of contemplative silence, Blaster stretched out on Jazz's couch and propped his feet on the arm. "Sure. Why not?"

From his position in the chair, Bumblebee glanced from Blaster to Jazz. "You know, it might be the only answer."

"Primus! What am I supposed to do? Be a part of Prowl's harem?" Jazz snorted.

Bumblebee scowled. "You know Prowl wouldn't treat you that way. And it wouldn't be like that. There are four of you, not twenty or thirty or a hundred. And this is a freak occurrence, not that weird display of wealth and power from ancient times."

"'Freak.' That's a good word for it." Jazz flopped into his other chair and leaned his helm against his fist. His entire happy future with Prowl, which he'd painted up in his processor for stellar cycles now, had suddenly been shattered and rearranged. It wasn't something he could be instantly okay with. "Primus, whadda mess. My processor is totally scrambled, ya'll. What is this? Primus is fresh outta irony? And what the frag? I'm not just in love with a re-merged split spark twin, I'm in love with the _dead one._"

Blaster grimaced. "That's harsh, man. And not really true, right? I mean, you said that that every time Prowl talks he's speaking as both Night Stalker and Maverick. So they're both alive, and they're both aware. They just don't have separate bodies anymore."

"Whatever. I guess." Jazz wasn't high on 'good spirits'. His usual charm and cheer had temporarily abandoned him.

Bumblebee looked deep in thought. "Well, you always say that when something doesn't make sense, go back to the facts and start over from the beginning." He held up one finger. "Prowl is twins. One twin loves you. Prowl's figured out a way for you to date despite the odd circumstances."

"Yeah, I mean, he seems willing to give this a chance," Blaster chimed in. "So that makes the real question 'what do you want to do?'"

-o-

"I'm not sure that what _I_ want is what matters most." Optimus watched Ironhide take aim and fire again. "I mean, what about the crew's reaction? Nucleus Bonds were outlawed eons ago. Most mechs see it as primitive, outdated, or even extravagant." He could only imagine their derision. "I'm the _Prime._ I can't afford to lose the troops' respect."

"Ya ain't gonna lose their respect." Ironhide subspaced his rifle and leaned against the railing that separated shooters from the range. "This is a special circumstance, and I think yer worryin' about the wrong thing." He crossed his arms over his boxy chest. "What really matters here is personal: Do ya love Prowl? Do ya love him enough to date him despite the weirdness? Do ya want to be bonded to him, complications aside? Can ya envision a future where yer bonded to Prowl but have to share him with Jazz?"

His friend's questions brought Optimus up short, making his spark sting until it burned. How much _would_ he sacrifice for someone he loved? How much should be sacrificed for love? 'Everything' was an overly idealistic answer, even for him, and he had serious questions to consider: Would he be violating his emotional wellbeing by trying to sustain a four-way bond? There was no way to know that for sure, although dating might give him some idea of the effort it would take to support their relationship. Would he be risking the physical safety of their sparks by straining them? Hopefully, Ratchet would be able to answer that question.

Did he truly love Prowl?

Yes, Optimus knew that he did; his spark ached with the power of it. They had emotional resonance, that utter relaxation and comfort in each other's presence, that willingness to show the best and worst sides of themselves. They shared goals, hopes, and dreams, and they operated by the same values and beliefs. Granted, Prowl had withheld a rather foundational piece of himself from Prime, mostly from fear, but Prime also was guilty of withholding his worst fears from Prowl, carrying them by himself. Optimus could hardly condemn Prowl when he committed the same offense, and it was something they could correct.

But that didn't address the issue of the four-way bond.

Ironhide was watching him closely. "Well? Whadda think?"

-o-

"Ya know, I have no fraggin' idea _what_ to think." Jazz leaned forward in his chair, bouncing in his seat slightly with excess energy. "All I've wanted all this time is to be with Prowl, but — " But this was not Jazz's ideal future. Not even close. He'd always imagined his life containing a typical two-way bond with a mech around his age and a horde of sparklings. Now he had a dual mech who was only a few vorns older than the twins or Bumblebee, who already had sparklings, and who also loved someone else. Jazz could adapt to some of those things, like Prowl's surprising youth, but he wasn't sure he could adapt to all of it.

However, Jazz sensed Prowl, or rather Maverick, in his spark, and he felt like this was Primus' sign that he was The One. Also, compatibility was a huge requirement for a relationship, and Jazz felt that he and Prowl were highly attuned. After all, they shared many interests, dreams, beliefs, and goals, and Jazz felt like he could be totally himself around Prowl. He never had to wear a mask, hold himself back, or censor his words.

"Jazz?" Bumblebee sounded worried. "You okay?"

"No," Jazz answered honestly. "I mean, could a relationship like this even work?"

Bumblebee leaned forward in his chair. "Well, let's just get really basic for a moment. Does your spark burn around him? Do you feel that telltale tugging?"

Jazz picked at his knee joint with his other hand. "Yeah. Always has."

"Then give it a shot." Bumblebee smiled. "You won't know unless you try." He sobered and leaned back again. "Look, I know managing a complex relationship will probably take a lot of negotiation and discussion and continual adjustment. But you're good at things like that."

Blaster nodded. "Yeah, if anyone can pull it off, you can. So do you want Prowl bad enough to try?"

Struck by the question, Jazz stared at Blaster for a long moment. He had never wanted anything or anyone was much as he wanted Prowl. Had that really changed? Should he let his resolve be shaken? "Well, this is kinda a big deal, ya know. But . . . yeah, of course." He felt his determination solidify even as he said the words. "I don't ever give up. I don't ever give in. I always make a way."

Blaster grinned. "Then why is this any different?"

-o-

"I guess, to a certain extent, it's _not_ any different," Optimus replied, meeting his friend's gaze.

Ironhide smirked. "Of course it ain't. Ya always find a solution."

"Yes," Optimus said, "and I suppose I will again. Still, this was not what I imagined my life being. I imagined something normal: being bonded to a single mech, having one or two sparklings once the war was over. The concept of sharing my bonded wasn't something I could even have dreamed. Can such a relationship work? Can it work well? I haven't a clue." He drew air in slowly through his vents then exhaled it again, realizing as he did that what he felt was _grief_. Grief over the death of his romantic dream. "I do know that I love Prowl. My spark even burns around him in a way it didn't with Elita."

Ironhide nodded once. "Then as I see it, ya only got one choice: date. Ya ain't gonna find out if it can work if ya don't take the chance of tryin' it out. Go in with the understandin' between all of ya that it's a tryin' ground. State upfront that there are certain things ya need in a relationship, specify what they are, and have them do that, too. Put it all out on the table and see what happens."

Optimus smiled faintly behind his battle mask. Ironhide always had a way of putting things into perspective. "Thank you, my friend. It's sage advice."

Pulling his rifle out of subspace, Ironhide aimed at his target again. "Nah. Just an ol' warrior's two bolts."

Optimus watched him resume shooting, and despite now having a plan of action, he began wondering if there was another way, a way that he could have Night Stalker and Jazz could have Maverick. What if there were a way to split Night Stalker and Maverick again? Then things would be simpler, and everyone could be happy.

But even if that were possible, what would it mean, exactly, and would it truly be the best option?

oOoOo

Staring into his personal washrack's mirror, Prowl critically assessed his appearance. He always kept himself up well, but thanks to his upcoming date, he wanted to look pristine. Sunstreaker had chipped in, assisting Prowl with paint touchup and a wax job, and Prowl suspected he'd never had such expensive wax touch his frame. In fact, he utterly shone now, and not a single scratch marred his paint. Still, he felt somehow not ready, and his doorwings fluttered anxiously behind his back.

"Primus," he muttered to himself. "I shouldn't be so nervous."

And yet he was. Prowl hadn't been on a date in two million stellar cycles, not counting his time in stasis. Thanks to the never-ending argument about what kind of mech _to_ date, Night Stalker and Maverick had rarely agreed enough to say yes to anyone. In fact, the only mech they had dated was Power Run, who they'd been reunited with briefly after four millennia apart. Power Run had been kind and easy-going, but in the end, they'd made better friends and had parted on good terms.

Now, though, both Optimus and Jazz had commed him and agreed to tentatively attempt dating, and Prowl was, for the most part, thrilled. No one understood the true extent of his loneliness. He cherished his close friends, like Optimus and Jazz, and his new friends, like Red Alert and Trailbreaker. Likewise, he adored his 'adoptive' sparkling, Bluestreak, and thanked Primus endlessly for the new relationship with his twins. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could replace the loss of Maverick and Night Stalker's relationship. Granted, they were artificially mentally combined by the battle computer, and their (re)merging had stopped the dull pain of separation they used to feel. But they couldn't talk, couldn't instinctively reach across their bond and share thoughts, dreams, and fears. Where the constant hum of warm feelings and _life_ should have been there was only dead, cold silence.

And just as Prowl's spark ached to be loved romantically, it ached to be bonded again. Having been bonded practically since the instant of creation, his spark could not fully accept not being bonded. Mechs had always said he was cold and distant, but the truth was he felt vaguely alienated and adrift. Or he had until he'd fallen in love with Optimus and Jazz, and then his sparks knew they belonged to two other sparks and vice versa. Had his situation not been so freakish and dangerous, he would've acted long, long ago. Unfortunately, his circumstances _were_ bizarre, and he had no illusions about how difficult a four-way relationship would be. Now, though . . .

"Better to try and fail than never know what could have been," Prowl told himself, and satisfied with his appearance, he exited his washrack.

Indeed, tonight might be the first step in no longer being alone. He could be loved again, and he could love again as well. He could share life, share sparks, share a future of bold dreams and realities. Or so he hoped. And until this moment, he'd have never imagined it was possible.

Since Optimus had a free night in his schedule first, Prowl was going on a date with him. They'd all agreed to simply arrange dates as their schedules aligned, regardless of order, so long as the frequency of dates was equal between Optimus and Jazz. Jazz, then, would get his date the following night.

And so as he waited for Optimus, Prowl flitted around his quarters, straightening the already perfect room in an attempt to distract himself. With the battle computer dialed back to 30 percent, he felt distinctly like Night Stalker and also utterly emotionally naked. It had been three millennia, prior to their forced stasis, since the battle computer had run so low. In addition, before it'd been a matter of injuries; he'd never done this on purpose.

Now what would happen? Would Optimus still like him once he let Night Stalker show? His doorwings fluttered nervously, and he was painfully aware of how much more expressive they were now. All his emotions felt rawer, closer to the surface. Perhaps the greatest irony of his existence was that Night Stalker, who was highly emotionally sensitive, wore a stoic mask, but Maverick, who relied heavily on logic, exposed his emotions easily.

His doorchime buzzed, causing him to jerk slightly. "Primus help me," he muttered, turning to face the door. He triggered it open remotely. "Come in."

Optimus stepped inside and retracted his battle mask, giving Prowl a small smile. "Good evening." He walked over to Prowl and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank you for agreeing to go on a date with me."

Returning the squeeze, Prowl felt a smile bend up his lips. Maybe, just maybe, their date would go well. "You're welcome." He realized at his voice was quieter than usual.

Optimus lifted Prowl's hand and brushed his lips across his fingers. "If it's all right with you, I'd like for us to spend the evening at Bird's Eye Point."

Since Prowl's only request for the night had been a quiet place, he was more than happy with the choice. In fact, he enjoyed being in the mountainous areas of Oregon and Washington. "Sounds wonderful."

"Excellent." Closing his battle mask again, Optimus tucked Prowl's hand into his arm, and they made their way to the _Ark's_ entrance.

oOoOo

From the Command Deck, Jazz stood at Blaster's shoulder, staring at the security monitor and watching Optimus and Prowl depart. Although he chastised himself for being distracted while on duty, he couldn't stop worrying. He frowned, watching the dust cloud billowing behind them as they drove away, and clenched his fist.

What would happen on their date? Jazz didn't want to be childish, but it did sting that Optimus got to go out with Prowl first. Granted, Jazz was already scheduled to work this shift, and Prowl was taking him out the next night. But in the meantime, his imagination began to run wild. Where would they go? Would they kiss? Would they interface? Jazz's vents hitched at the thought. Even though he understood logically that Prowl was actually two mechs, he found himself wishing he could claim Prowl first — or, conversely, let Prowl claim him. Either was fine by him. The point was that he couldn't stifle the wild fear that somehow he would be left out or left behind. What if Prime's and Prowl's date went so well that Prowl no longer felt the need to take Jazz out? What if he lost his chance?

Blaster glanced up at him. "Relax," he whispered, smiling. "You'll get to unleash your amazing charms and wiles on Pr — Maverick soon."

Maverick. Jazz glanced back at the monitor, where all that remained of Prowl's image was the distant red glow of his break lights. In truth, it was Night Stalker who had left just now, and Jazz understood that Maverick was the one who he'd be dating. However, when he looked at Prowl, all he saw was _Prowl_. He didn't see Maverick or Night Stalker, not even after all the processor-blowing explanations. And he didn't want to lose Prowl.

"Primus." Jazz's spark seemed to surge and sting in his chest. He glanced back at Blaster, whispering. "I don't care. It's still not easy."

"I guess not." Blaster smiled at him. "But I know you. You'll win."

Win. Jazz wasn't sure that was the right word for it. In any other situation, it _would_ be a contest, or given how much he loved Prowl, maybe an all-out war. But now things were complicated, or rather more complicated, and he couldn't ignore that it was about more than just wanting to be with Prowl forever. It was also about his friendship with Optimus.

_Friendship,_ he thought, nearly sighing as his processor ached. _What about Optimus? This is so fraggin' weird. Am I only dating Maverick? Is Optimus only dating Night Stalker? If it comes down to bonding, will I bond to Maverick? Or will it be to Prowl, and what will that mean? That I am bonding to Night Stalker as well? Does that mean I'll be bonding to Optimus, too?_ That was a bizarre thought. Jazz didn't have those kinds of feelings for Optimus; they were friends and only friends. What would it mean if they both bonded to Prowl? How would interfacing work? Would they each one have scheduled nights where they would be with Prowl, and the other would be stranded elsewhere?

"Holy slag," Jazz muttered, trudging over to Teletraan's main terminal and trying to look like he was working. There were so many concerns, and all Jazz wanted was to simply be in Prowl's arms. A recurrent thought hit him again. _Primus, I hope they don't 'face tonight._ He would feel deeply hurt if Optimus and Prowl rushed off and consummated their relationship, leaving Jazz to scramble for scraps of Prowl's affection.

_This is going to be a long night,_ Jazz thought, depressed.

oOoOo

The ride to the promontory named Bird's Eye took thirty kliks, and Optimus and Prowl filled their time with talk of Prowl's new relationship with the twins. More serious matters, like Shockwave's new space cruiser, had been covered in the morning's briefing and were relegated to work-only for the moment. Prowl enjoyed their laid-back conversation, blooming under Prime's curiosity and relaxing at the cool breeze flowing over his chassis.

When they reached Bird's Eye, the sun was setting, casting a crimson glow over the gently swaying pine trees below. One-by-one, fireflies rose from the valley floor, dotting the rising darkness with pale green lights, and doves cooed to one another in the tree tops. A symphony of crickets tuned up for the night, their song carrying through the warm summer air.

Prowl transformed and gazed across the vista, his optics scanning the snowcapped mountains on the far side of the valley. "It's always so beautiful here."

"I'm glad you like it." Optimus transformed as well, his trailer rolling back and disappearing into his extended subspace.

Staring after the trailer, Prowl wondered for a moment if Optimus might be the best mech to understand him. Neither his Combat Deck nor Roller was sentient, but he was still a mech in three parts.

"Would you like to have a seat?" Optimus gestured to a boulder they could lean against. "I brought energon for us."

Prowl smiled at him. "Certainly."

Optimus settled first, then held out his arm. "If it's all right with you?"

Understanding his request, Prowl settled against his side, leaning against him. Optimus wrapped his arm around Prowl's shoulders, holding him close, and then pulled two energon cubes from his subspace. Prowl accepted his, taking a long draw and cherishing the warm energy as it hit his tank. It made him relax further, and his rested his head against Prime's shoulder.

"I could get used to this," Optimus murmured, retracting his battle mask and pressing a kiss to Prowl's helm.

"Indeed." Prowl felt his smile widen. Night Stalker nearly vibrated inside his laser core from his excitement and happiness, and those feelings infused Prowl's entire frame. Simply put, Night Stalker had always preferred the gentlemanly kind of mech, especially when they were tall and broad-shouldered. He liked feeling special to them, protected by them, encapsulated by their love. Granted, he could do the protecting, had done it for Maverick and their sparklings. He could fight for himself, and fight quite well, having achieved a high rank in Circuit-su. However, at the end of the orn, he wanted to be the one championed, and it was nothing more than simple personal preference.

Curled up together, Optimus and Prowl watched the sun sink below the horizon as they drank their energon quietly. A full moon rose in its place, casting a faint glow across their paint, and the fireflies, seemingly emboldened, wove their way around the two mechs, interrupting the darkness with their shining bodies.

Energon finished, Prowl subspaced the empty cube and sighed in contentment. "It's so relaxing being here with you." He rejoiced in the fact they didn't have to speak and could share a quiet moment. For millennia, they had been co-works and friends, and their shift into something more seemed natural.

Optimus subspaced his cube as well, then grasped Prowl's hand gently. "Yes, quite relaxing. It's such a simple thing to watch the sunset with you, but my spark feels utterly at peace now."

Turning to gaze up at Optimus, Prowl gave him a small smile. He could feel the interference of Night Stalker's shyness, which he wasn't used to. Although he was introverted as Prowl, he didn't have trouble speaking up. "I . . ." _I don't want to be alone anymore. I want to be with you. Please tell me this can work, that we can make it work._

"You what?" Optimus moved his hand to Prowl's cheek, cupping his jaw and running his thumb over his cheekseam. "Primus, you're beautiful. And I don't just mean physically." He leaned down, kissing Prowl's chevron.

"I don't want this night to end," Prowl whispered, letting Night Stalker express his deepest wish. He shifted in Prime's arms, turning toward him until they could face each other.

Optimus shifted toward him as well. "Prowl . . ." He ran his arm around Prowl's waist, pulling him closer, and the instant their bumpers touched, a surge of energy bolted through them.

Prowl gasped, and Optimus abruptly clutched him. The telltale burning in Prowl's spark, the signal of compatibility between them, seemed wildly amplified. Prowl met Prime's gaze, shocked, and saw an equal amount of surprise in his optics.

"I can feel you so much more strongly now," Optimus whispered.

"Maverick's not in the way." Even though Prowl had always known that was the case, he was stunned by the difference made by letting Night Stalker come forward.

Optimus cupped Prowl's helm, still holding their bumpers together. "Thank you for this chance, love." He leaned down, pressing their lips together.

Running his arms around Prime's shoulders, Prowl pressed into the kiss with an almost bruising force, poring stellar cycles' worth of frustrated love, pent-up desire, and emotional yearning into the gesture. In fact, he climbed halfway into Prime's lap, rubbing their bumpers together in the process and not wanting to ever let go. Their lips molded together, then parted as their glossae invaded each other's mouths, exploring and caressing, teasing and wanting. Then their passion exploded, and they clung to each other as though they could fuse their armor together.

"Primus!" Prowl managed to gasp, and at the break in their kiss, Optimus leaned him backwards, supporting his entire body weight by cupping his helm in his hand and pressing his forearm against his backstrut. Thanks to the angle, Prowl's neck was arched and fully exposed, and Optimus leaned forward, running kisses up the expanse of heated metal and then returning to lick up his throat as well. Prowl moaned, squirming slightly with the sudden _crash_ of desire slamming through his frame and making his various interface arrays burn.

Prime's other hand grasped his hip, steadying him and inadvertently holding him captive. Optimus buried his face in the crook of Prowl's neck, kissing, sucking, and nibbling, and Prowl gripped his shoulders, simultaneously encouraging and claiming him. He realized abruptly that his thighs were parted over Prime's legs, his lower interface panel pressing against Prime's abdomen, and he shifted his hips slightly, rubbing the panel against Optimus' heated armor and pulling a groan from him.

"Prowl," Optimus moaned against his neck, then began kissing downwards over his bumper, leaning him back further, and licking across the glass of his headlight.

Gasping sharply, Prowl bowed his back upwards, pressing the cool glass of his headlight against Prime's hot mouth. He'd only ever been teased like this once before, by someone he'd not ultimately been in love with, and the difference between the experiences was stunning. His entire frame felt _consumed_ by fire, his control hurdling away from him, and all he could imagine was either synching systems with Optimus through cables, their minds filtering through each other's, or Optimus' thick hardline jack filling his critical energy port . . .

With a soft _click_, Prowl's lower interface panel popped open. Shocked, and definitely not ready, Prowl's grasp on Prime's shoulders turned into pushing. "Wait! Stop." His optics flared bright with near-panic.

Optimus pulled back immediately. "Prowl?" He seemed to take in Prowl's bright optics and faintly trembling arms. "Oh! I'm sorry." He lowered Prowl to his lap, running his arm around his waist and hugging him. "We kind of got carried away, huh?"

"Just a bit." Prowl willed his systems to calm down and sent the order to shut his interface panel. "Apparently with Night Stalker in the forefront, my feelings for you are far more powerful and not as easily restrained." It had been almost frightening, this intensity of feeling, this near-loss of all control. The one time he'd interfaced with Power Run, it hadn't been anything like that. It'd been mostly awkward, quite tense despite Power Run's best efforts, and while Prowl had overloaded, it had felt strangely anti-climatic. It had been soon after that they'd agreed to just be friends, and Prowl had been left feeling off-kilter and confused.

In contrast, what had been building between Optimus and him had been more like a hurricane unleashed from directly inside Night Stalker's spark — wild, unbridled, passionate. An all-consuming need to paint his love across Prime's frame and lose himself in Prime's love and touch in return. Prowl worried briefly if he could release himself that way, given the way his two selves were always so rigidly controlled, and conversely he, or rather Night Stalker, feared being swept away by the raw emotions and making a mistake, such as what had happened with Maverick. He shuddered faintly.

"Are you all right?" Optimus stroked his back gently.

Prowl wasn't sure he wanted to admit what was bothering him. If they did bond, he supposed he'd have to, but they weren't to that point yet. "I just . . . I'm not ready." He wondered if that sounded stupid to someone who'd been in a committed relationship, had in fact been pre-bonded, to another for millennia. For Optimus, 'facing was probably no big deal, or so he assumed.

Suddenly, Prowl felt very much like the youngling Night Stalker had been, not like the adult he now was. He wondered if force-combining Night and Mav had resulted in an unusual side effect that would manifest when he allowed one come forward.

"That's fine." Optimus let him lean back so they could meet each other's gazes. "I'm happy to do whatever makes you comfortable, and please don't ever feel rushed or pressured. Besides, it's only our first date. I'm not ready, either."

Prowl relaxed. Yes, Night Stalker very much preferred gentlemen. "Thank you." He climbed off of Optimus' lap and settled against his side once more. Optimus wrapped his arm around his shoulders again, holding him close.

For several kliks, they rested together in comfortable silence, then Optimus spoke. "I have a potentially sensitive question to ask you." He watched Prowl with clear concern. "Have you ever considered splitting back into Night Stalker and Maverick?"

Flinching, Prowl wondered if Optimus' question was a sign that he ultimately wouldn't be able to accept him as he was. Then again, he also couldn't deny that his spark reacted even more to Optimus with Night Stalker pressing forward. "Why do you ask?"

"Because it seems to me that — assuming it can be done — it is the easiest solution to our problem. We wouldn't have to work out the difficulties inherent in a four-way relationship, and should we choose to bond, we wouldn't shock all of Cybertron by resurrecting the ancient, and otherwise illegal, practice of Nucleus Bonds. As it is, I'll have to ask Alpha Trion to convene the Autobot Council, which will mean recreating it since all the previous members are dead, and have our case heard."

Prowl hadn't yet considered the problems involved on the legal side of bonding, and he realized Optimus had a legitimate question. However, his processor could hardly focus there; instead, he was suddenly consumed with the vision of being Night Stalker and Maverick again, able to have both physical conversations and bond speak. They could hang out together, as brothers and friends, and touch each other — play fight, wrestle, hug, hold. They would once again suffer the ache of separation, but it was hardly an unbearable condition. And most of all, they would be _them_, able to express their individual personalities, different opinions, and divergent desires. "Primus, that would be wonderful!" He frowned, concerned. "But how could it be possible? Once the CMO overseeing me figured out what had happened, he told me there was no way to separate us again."

"Wheeljack's latest invention, the Spark Displacer." Optimus held up one hand as though to ward off an immediate objection. "I realize that it doesn't split sparks, but you have to admit that the device's success suggests a research avenue."

Suddenly, a whole new list of issues sprang into Prowl's processor, and not just his inherent fear of spark experiments. "I don't know." He chose to speak as Night Stalker. "You can ask him, but we need to think about this carefully. Mav and I _create_ Prowl, so Prowl himself would be lost. That's not a scary thought since we were originally an us, but we would need to determine what that means to the Autobot cause." There were far more problems than just those, but Prowl decided to leave it at that for the moment.

"That's a good point," Optimus said, nodding. "We would have to consider all the repercussions."

"Also, you fell in love with _Prowl._ Not Night Stalker alone." Prowl watched his date closely. "We would have to be sure you loved Night Stalker before we dared to split."

Optimus smiled. "Well, if this date is any indication, I'd say we're off to a great start."

Prowl sincerely hoped so, but the idea of experimenting with his spark made his energon run cold. Could they ensure his safety? What if something went wrong? If something did go wrong, would he simply be killed, or would his spark be displaced into some kind of limbo?

Prowl had a very bad feeling about this.

oOoOo

From the balcony that faced the quad, Shockwave observed the troops stationed at Vos, watching them line up by division. Around him hung cameras that would broadcast his upcoming speech to each Decepticon base on the planet, and he'd personally assured that if Ultra Magnus' or Megatron's spies intercepted the encoded signal, they wouldn't be able to decode it in time. He internally smiled, pleased with his genius, and gazed up at the eternal dome of stars that shone upon them. A billion stars, some dead now and others too far to reach. But for the ones in the alpha quadrant, he had plans.

And step one was to resume control of Cybertron. For four million stellar cycles, he had dominated Cybertron, ruling with logic, efficiency, and little fuss. The Autobots had been kept in their places. Now, with Megatron bungling up plan after plan and the Autobots rallying at the news their Prime lived, chaos had returned to Shockwave's perfect world.

This would not do.

"Fellow Decepticons," he began in Standard Cybertonian, wanting to make sure Decepticons everywhere felt included despite his choice of Vos for this rally. The quad remained quiet, each Decepticon standing at parade rest and listening intently. "For four millennia, we have fought and maintained Cyberton with few losses, ruling our lives as we see fit." First, Shockwave appealed to their need for personal agency and a quality life. "We have proven ourselves against the Autobots, and although energon has not been plentiful, we found our own sources under our own power. We have been known across the alpha quadrant as fearless warriors, invoking awe and respect everywhere we have gone." Next, he used their pride. "In fact, we have fulfilled our first, best destiny, conquering and controlling, and we have done so without help or intervention."

A murmur of approval ran through the crowd.

"However, things have changed." Shockwave paused, letting the weight of silence catch their attention again. Although it galled him to have lost control of Cybertron to Megatron, much less to have been saddled with the posturing of Starscream again, Shockwave maintained his cool, stoic exterior. "Megatron returned, and now suddenly the Decepticons' honored designation is being equated with failure: failed missions, failed energon collection, and a failed command structure."

The uneasy shifting of mechs made the quad seem to ripple, but Shockwave knew that many of the troops had expressed discontent over Megatron's recent performance.

"I find myself forced to ask several difficult questions." Shockwave decided to keep their solidarity in the forefront, making his speech about his troops instead his personal leadership. "Do we need Megatron to find energon? Did we not find energon on our own for four millennia?" He paused, letting that sink in. "Do we need Megatron in order to keep command of Cybertron? Did we not suppress the Autobots with our own power?"

A murmur of agreement rose in a dull roar. If Shockwave could have smirked he would have.

Although he rarely spoke with inflection, Shockwave raised his voice, creating a crescendo, since logic dictated that he generate emotion in order to sway his audience. "And what is more, do we not wish to keep our honor intact? Do we not wish to inspire fear wherever we go? Does it not gall our warrior's sparks that we could be associated with words such as 'fumbling,' 'foolish,' and 'impotent'?"

The roar grew, rage spiking through it as yells of "no" and "never" filled the air. Shockwave felt distinct satisfaction not only in the fact he was rallying his troops but also that he would no longer have to wear a mask of politeness and cooperation around Megatron.

"Fellow warriors, we cannot let this gross abuse of our honor stand!" Shockwave lifted his arms wide. "It is injustice to our ancestors, to our core identity, to our very sparks, to let ourselves be associated with anything other than domination, success, power, and victory." He paused as cheers erupted. "What is more, we cannot let the Autobots have their Prime back. No challenge against us can stand; we must eliminate him. And I say this not as a leader who promised and failed, but as one who has proven relentlessly that I make no plans without the intel and resources to succeed. I speak to you as a leader who has brought you nothing but victory. We must wipe out Optimus Prime and his command staff and put the Autobots back in their places as our servants, our laborers, our inferiors!"

The troops' roar of excitement echoed off the base's titanium walls, vibrating and deafening. One more step and he would have them.

Shockwave switched to the Vosian dialect, appealing directly to the Seekers. "More than securing our victory, more than rebuilding our honor, we have a responsibility to ourselves for one more thing: our sparkright."

The change in language quieted the crowd, and Shockwave could feel the intensity of their curiosity like electricity charging the air.

"I am talking about bonding." Shockwave let the blunt phrase hang in the silence. "By finishing millennia-old research, I have generated a way for us to bond and not die should our mates be killed. I have enabled us to reclaim our sparkright and still maximize our lives as warriors."

Utter shock pulsated through the crowd, causing them to shift until they seemed to shimmer. Shockwave felt pleased, knowing how the Seekers chaffed at not being able to fulfill their almost preprogrammed need to generate trine bonds.

"The method has already been tested and verified. _I_ will _ensure_ that any Decepticon may opt for the procedure, and upon completion, regain what Megatron has taken from us. Trines may bond again, and without fear of triple deaths should one sacrifice his life in battle." Shockwave raised his voice again. "It is time to reclaim our heritage, secure our rights, and take back what is duly ours!"

Shouts erupted below, excitement building once again, and Shockwave could see many Seekers knocking their knuckles together in enthusiasm.

_I have them,_ he thought, pleased. He switched back to Standard for the remainder of his speech, wanting to ensure solidarity. "So let us waste no more time! Let us invade Earth, annihilate Prime, destroy the Autobots, and take control of our own destinies once more! We do not need Megatron or his pathetic, failed plans when we can secure our own victory. We will make Cybertron ours, and ours alone, and then we will annex the entire quadrant, taking energon from whomever we please, because we are Decepticons — powerful, noble, and unstoppable!"

The entire crowd exploded, several Seekers streaking into the sky and splitting the air with thunderous _booms_ as they broke the sound barrier. The roar of battle-lust from thousands of vocalizers rang in Shockwave's audios, and he felt a smug sense of accomplishment.

Now all he had to do was lure Megatron and Soundwave to Cybertron and trap them. It would be too, too easy.

* * *

_Postscript: Up next is Jazz and Prowl's date! :)_

_Thank you to the following for reviewing chapter 10: Sphinx01, Christina, Shizuka Taiyou, Optimus Prime 007, Got Buttermilk, ChaosGarden, Juzu, Marinelife37, OniMathier, Thalanee, PROWLERTwins, phoebe turner, arctapus, smoking caramels, Hiding In My Writing, BoredTech, Vivienne Grainger, CNightJoy, renegadewriter8, and iNsAnE nO bAkA. I greatly appreciate your feedback!  
_


	12. The Unknown Land

_A/N: Once every two or three years, real life gets totally in my face and supersedes all else. I apologize for the horribly long wait, but at the same time, there's not much to be done for it. By way of apology, please accept the new chapter. Thank you for your patience, and please continue to grant it to me.  
_

_I can't remember now if I did or didn't send out individual thank you PMs on chapter 11. I kinda think I did, but if I didn't, then please know I that dearly appreciate your reviews!_

* * *

_**Chapter 12: Terra Incognita  
**__**or The Unknown Land**_

"What the frag?" Ratchet's voice exploded across the medbay, shattering the shocked silence. He hardly knew what to think, much less how to feel. Prowl was a twin? Was _twins_recombined? And one of those said twins was Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's carrier?

Optimus and Jazz stared at him, both looking exhausted. "That's pretty much what I said," Jazz sighed. "I haven't been rechargin' too good I've been thinkin' about it so hard."

To Ratchet's left, Perceptor remained quiet, clearly deep in thought. To his right, however, Wheeljack stirred. "Why didn't Prowl tell us himself? I mean, I assume you got Prowl's permission to discuss this with us, but — "

"Of course." Prime almost sounded offended. "Prowl said he simply didn't feel up to telling the story yet again, but he felt that the three of you, as department heads, would need to know in order to answer our questions."

Ratchet struggled to work through the information dump. "I would've never guessed this was possible. The implications are stunning."

Seeming to gather himself, Perceptor nodded. "Indeed. This is most intriguing. There are many things to note here: that there's a way for one twin to survive the other's death, that this ability might have been passed on to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and perhaps most of all, that Prowl has retained Maverick's memories without a direct download. The metaphysics of — "

"Later," Ratchet interrupted. He glanced between the grim faces of his COs. "Do the twins know who Prowl is?"

"Yeah." Jazz shrugged faintly. "Prowl said they're doin' okay with it."

Ratchet frowned, suddenly understanding the vacant or preoccupied expressions the twins had been sporting. "I see. Well, what's your — " He halted, a long-forgotten memory rising up out of his compressed memory files to whack his processor. "Holy frag!"

Wheeljack apparently received the jolt of his shock over their bond. "What is it?"

Turning toward him, Ratchet tried to form the words. "Do you remember that youngling we helped once? Before the war? He was carrying two sparklings and collapsed just outside of the café we were dining at?"

Wheeljack snapped his fingers. "Primus, yes! I'd forgotten all about that. He said he was being chased by the PSF."

"Wait, what?" Jazz asked, straightening.

"What are the slaggin' odds?" Ratchet shook his head, his processor so blown he accidentally ignored Jazz. "So he actually lived!" Ratchet realized suddenly how the conversation during the briefing a decaorn earlier fit in. "Oh, I see. Well, this is one of the odder coincidences I've experienced."

"So you're saying you knew about this?" Optimus asked, his optics dimmed in obvious perplexity.

"Not exactly," Ratchet replied, pulling himself together. "Back before the war, Wheeljack and I rescued a rundown youngling who was toting around twin sparklings, and he said he was running from the PSF. It seems ironic that Prowl and the twins had been right under my nose all this time. When we first met Sunny and Sides, Wheeljack and I wondered if they were the sparklings we'd helped save that orn, but we'd assumed that the youngling had died. After all, the twins in the study had all been reported killed." He shook his head. "Well, never mind that. What, exactly, is your question?"

"Can Night Stalker and Maverick be separated again?" Optimus asked.

Simultaneously, Jazz spoke. "Is it physically possible for Prowl to bond?" He traded a tense glance with Prime.

Ratchet frowned. "Wait. One at a time, please." To a certain extent, he wasn't surprised by their questions. He wasn't an idiot; he saw the way they acted around Prowl.

Optimus directed his attention to Wheeljack. "That device you've been working on, the one that temporarily knocks a mech's spark out of his chest. Could it be modified to split Night Stalker and Maverick back into twins?"

Jazz nodded, clearly curious as well. "Yeah, could ya build a second body exactly like Prowl's and separate 'em?"

"Uh, I have no idea." Wheeljack sounded worried, and Ratchet could feel over their bond just how uncomfortable he felt.

Ratchet caught Prime's gaze. "Are you sure Prowl even _wants_to be split back apart?"

Optimus folded his arms over his chest. "Well, we briefly discussed it. I have his permission to ask."

Wheeljack shifted from foot-to-foot, clasping and then unclasping his hands behind his back. "I'd have to severely modify or even redesign the device, and then I'd have to come up with a way to test it. Frankly, I have no idea what that would be."

Perceptor stirred. "We could work on that, but the more legitimate question might be whether Prowl can bond as is."

"Yeah, and what it'll mean if he can," Jazz mumbled.

"In other words, you're both in love with him," Ratchet said. "Let's just get that out on the table. How does he feel?"

"Maverick is in love with me." Jazz stared at the floor, his visor flaring.

Optimus' shoulders tensed faintly. "Night Stalker is in love with me."

"Ah." Ratchet pressed his fingers to the middle of his chevron, resisting a surge of exasperation. "I can research abnormal bonds, and Wheeljack and Perceptor can evaluate the spark device. But whatever you do, _Prowl_has to be comfortable with it, too." He waited until they both looked at him. "More importantly, you have to ask yourself this: what if this is as good as it gets? What if Prowl can't be changed? Will you still love him? Would you still want to be with him? On top of that, if you can't bond to him, then what?"

"I know, I know." Jazz crossed his arms.

Ratchet sometimes felt like the creator of a whole horde of sparklings. "But before we talk splitting a mech in half or, say, Nucleus Bonds, maybe you both should date Prowl and make sure it works. If it doesn't, then the next step in this process is meaningless."

With a deep exhale through his vents, Optimus nodded his head. "Of course. I've already taken Prowl on a date, and Prowl is taking Jazz on one tonight."

Raising an optical ridge, Ratchet stared them both down. "Good. Glad to see you two haven't completely lost your wits. Now unless you have further questions, scoot and let us work on this." He watched with exasperated affection as his COs skedaddled.

"Primus," Wheeljack muttered once they were gone. "What a mess."

"Poor Prowl," Perceptor added.

Ratchet found that a lot of things he'd been wondering about Prowl suddenly made sense. "It's a disaster, but let's see what we can find out. Surely we can offer them something."

Despite his determination, Ratchet was concerned. It was a complex issue.

oOoOo

Prowl was nervous. Beyond nervous, actually. For the first time in a long while, he very much felt as young as Maverick, who he'd allowed to come forward, technically was. He'd never really imagined, never hoped enough to dream, that he'd be able to take Jazz out on a date. Just asking Jazz had set Prowl on edge, despite knowing the answer would be yes. He still remembered Jazz's small, teasing smile when he had, in fact, agreed. That little smile had warmed him to his core.

As he trailed through the hallways to Jazz's quarters, he checked himself repeatedly, ensuring that he looked perfect for his love. He felt a bit silly for being so self-conscious, especially when they'd so often seen each other dirty and banged up during missions, but Maverick insisted that Jazz was special. This night was special. Therefore, Prowl had engaged Sunstreaker's help for a wax and detailing. Even Sideswipe had helped. They'd both watched him with bright optics as he'd allowed Maverick the chance to tease them both — Sideswipe about his troublemaking, which Maverick secretly admired, and Sunstreaker for his vanity, which Maverick had to admit he shared in part.

Now, though, Prowl had reached Jazz's door and was stuck somewhere between extreme confidence ("I'll sweep him off his pedes," Maverick insisted) and extreme edginess ("Holy frag, don't let me make an idiot out of myself. I've gotta be cool for this mech!"). Stilling the mix of thoughts with some effort, Prowl buzzed the door comm.

Jazz opened the door immediately, standing just on the other side with a cocky grin that said he'd managed to hear Prowl coming. He leaned against the doorframe and propped one fist on his hip. "Heya, Prowler. You ready to wow me?" He laughed, clearly teasing. Then he froze, his entire body language shutting down. He straightened and glanced over Prowl's frame slowly.

Prowl suffered a strange moment in which he thought he might have to reboot his processor. _"Huh?"_Maverick asked within him, having superseded Night Stalker in their thought process. Did Jazz not like the detailing job? Surely not.

"Man, I didn't expect it to be that obvious," Jazz remarked quietly.

Realizing that Jazz was somehow referring to Maverick, Prowl took stock of his posture. His doorwings were perked up and spread more than usual, employing a bit of flare in the process. His stance was a bit wider and his chin held a touch higher. Plus, and perhaps most shocking of all, he was smiling uncontrollably. Much amused, he laughed openly. "Surprise!"

That same small smile bent Jazz's lips. "I'll say. Sexy, too."

Prowl lunged forward, grabbing Jazz in his arms and spinning so that they twirled into the room. "Don't steal my lines." He gazed into Jazz's bright visor, making out the shining optics beyond. "Sexy." He dropped a quick kiss on Jazz's lips.

Running his arms around Prowl's shoulders, Jazz returned the kiss. "Somthin' tells me this could turn into a very pleasant fight over who's the sexiest."

"One I'll be happy to win later." As much as Prowl wanted to kiss Jazz, among other things, he knew that their planned activity would take some time. They were going rock climbing. "Ready to go?"

"Yep, all my equipment's in my subspace." Jazz sounded every bit as enthusiastic as Prowl suspected he was. He had found a location Jazz hadn't tried before.

"Then let's go." Prowl released him, and with a wicked grin stepped out in the hall. "I'll race you."

"Race?" Jazz sounded positively diabolical. "Yer on!"

They barely maintained their composure long enough to reach the _Ark's_entrance, and as soon as they were clear, Prowl dropped into his alt form and peeled away, kicking up plumes of dust. Jazz was right beside him, redlining his engine as they accelerated and flew across the desert, heading for the distant green of vegetation. They swerved around each other, cutting each other off and hurtling around boulders, creating a type of dance that left decorative tire tracks in their wake.

When they reached the roads, they slowed down only long enough to veer off road again, heading for the cliff Prowl had located. At first, they tried to race down the dirt road, tailgating each other, but after a while the vegetation grew too dense. They transformed into root mode and began the uphill assent, the cliff in sight over the tree tops.

As they walked, Prowl glanced sideways at Jazz, struck by what he was ultimately being entrusted with. He knew that Jazz just as often chose to pursue as he did allow others to pursue him. That balance seemed to be tied to his ultimately laidback nature, maybe even his performer's streak or sense of adventure — that desire to never do something the same way twice. And for some reason, Jazz had chosen in this case to allow Prowl to pursue him. It was a responsibility, almost a demand performance, making Prowl put himself out there and show he was genuinely interested. Had Jazz, then, sensed he had competition? Had he considered pursuing Prowl and winning his attention, or had he decided from the beginning to subtly invite attention and thereby stoke Prowl's interest?

That small smile, which seemed to have come to stay, hovered on Jazz's lips. He met his gaze. "What's on yer mind?"

Prowl felt the question could wait. Regardless of the reasons, Jazz was choosing to entrust this responsibility to him, and Prowl very much coveted this chance to demonstrate his love. "Just cherishing the night," he answered quietly, the only other honest answer he could give.

Jazz's smile widened. "It's a night worth cherishin'."

Overcome with a sudden surge of giddiness, Prowl reached out and grasped Jazz's warm hand, lacing their fingers together. Jazz responded by gently squeezing his hand in return, and they walked shoulder to shoulder the rest of the way there, not allowing even the slightest separation form between them.

When they reached their destination, Jazz gazed up the sheer cliff face, clearly estimating the difficulty. "Looks like a decent challenge." He grinned.

Prowl snorted faintly, unable to stop himself. Jazz had tried quite a few extreme sports, the most recent being skydiving. There probably wasn't much he wouldn't try. "Let's get started, then."

Since they had chosen to mimic Earth-style climbing for the sake of adventure, they accessed their subspace for the equipment, such as the ropes, nuts, draws, and harnesses, and joked with each other as they set up. Then they commenced without hesitation, finding the first several dozen feet to be effortless with easy handholds. Since they were using lead climbing, Jazz climbed up first, with Prowl belaying and feeding out the rope. Halfway through, they realized the route to the top would be lengthy, causing Jazz to lead them through several pitches through which he reached a spot and anchored, allowing Prowl to reach him and collect the nuts for reuse on their next pitch.

Despite their comms, their conversation was sparse throughout most of the climb, given the amount of concentration they were using. Prowl hardly minded, though, especially when they reached the top and he saw Jazz's beaming smile.

"That was great!" Jazz plopped down a few feet back from the ledge, resting his elbows on his knees and staring out over the valley below them. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky into a crimson and golden halo. Behind them, just as below them, the forest fanned out, the lush greenness slowly darkening with shadows. Doves cooed to one another in the branches, and a cool breeze washed over their frames.

Prowl gazed at the way Jazz's visor glowed, the blue accenting his simple black and white color scheme. He decided he'd never known anyone more gorgeous. Joining him on the ground, Prowl sat close to his side, enough to feel the heat of his systems, and watched the sunset. "So unlike home."

"Yeah, man, it's beautiful," Jazz sighed, appreciation evident in his voice, and Prowl had to agree.

However, from inside Prowl, Maverick pressed forward again. "More interesting, too."

Jazz grinned again. "Well, I gotta admit, the explorer in me loves the new adventure. So many new things to try."

"You mean, so many new kinds of music," Prowl teased, grinning.

Jazz laughed, and their soaring mood broke into a brief wrestling match, which was half playful and half an excuse to touch each other. Still, they calmed after a few klicks and shared a quiet dinner, then lay back on the ground, clasping hands and watching the stars that were slowly revealed one by one. Prowl was aware that there were complex questions they ultimately needed to address, but he didn't mention them, letting a comfortable silence prevail. They had known each other for too long to feel awkward; they had known each other long enough to enjoy simply being together, conversation or not.

However, when Jazz turned toward him with a mischievous smile, Prowl immediately knew that their thoughts were headed to the same place, and he desperately wanted to kiss Jazz again. Finally, he was free to show his affection, free to reveal his love. He rolled onto his elbow, propping himself up, and gazed down at the one he'd secretly desired for so long. With his other hand, he reached out, tracing gentle fingertips over Jazz's face and memorizing the lines of his jaw and lips.

In truth, Prowl wanted to make love to him immediately. Just seeing the arch of Jazz's throat in the moonlight was enough to cause his frame to burn with desire. Knowing what Jazz preferred from him, Prowl's mind supplied him with tempting images: Jazz underneath him, back arched off the ground, lips parted, gasping. When the time came, he wanted to bring him pleasure, more pleasure than anyone ever had before. He wanted to show him his love in an entirely physical way, mapping out his frame with his fingertips and memorizing each curve and plane with his lips. He wanted Jazz to feel completely fused with him, filled and fulfilled, an utter unity etched in passion.

But within him, Maverick was concerned over his relative lack of experience, and it made him self-conscious. Jazz didn't lack experience, he was well aware. Would Prowl seem clumsy to him? Would he move too fast? Make a mistake?

No, he couldn't afford to doubt himself. Gathering his courage, Prowl leaned forward, his gaze caught on that perfect, arched throat, so white in the moonlight. He might not be quite ready to make love to Jazz, but he could bring him some pleasure. Carefully, he cupped Jazz's cheek in his hand and leaned down, lining up their faces so they wouldn't bump noses. Jazz was giving him that small smile once more, and Prowl felt a crash of desire as their lips met. Jazz's lips were warm and soft under his, just as warm as his cheek was under Prowl's palm. Prowl's breath caught in the back of his throat, threatening to emerge as a moan, and he shifted their angle slightly, kissing him again.

Thousands of tiny details assaulted him in that moment: the soft breeze blowing across their plating, the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the quiet sound of Jazz's vents. Prowl became hyperaware of the way Jazz's exhalations brushed his cheek, the heat of his frame against Prowl's chestplates, and most of all, those warm lips moving against his. A faint moan did escape Prowl then, and Jazz reached up, cupping his helm in his hand and pulling him closer. Jazz parted his lips, slipping out his glossa, and Prowl met the move, letting their glossa caress. The kiss was slow, languid, deep.

With some effort, Prowl broke away so he could kiss down Jazz's throat. He slipped his hand behind his neck, tilting Jazz's helm backward and baring that perfect, white expanse to his lips. Prowl kissed over the slope of Jazz's chin, taking his time, tasting the warm plating. Lingering under his jaw, Prowl felt the pulse of Jazz's systems, the rush of energon in his lines, and he stopped to suck there, drawing a gasp from him. _Beautiful,_ he thought, enchanted. _You're so beautiful. You must be stunning when you overload._

Jazz's inhalations had become shallow panting, and Prowl realized that his neck must be especially sensitive. Emboldened, he kissed up to his audio, running his glossa around it, then licked and nibbled his way back down. The panting became little, quiet moans, and the sound seemed to vibrate inside Prowl's helm. Such a gorgeous sound. Definitely something to be cherished.

By the time they parted, Prowl had climbed atop Jazz, slipping his knees between his legs, and their arms were wrapped around each other. They gazed at each other, breathless, their adoration shining in their optics.

"How long have you wanted to make love to me?" Jazz whispered, running his hand up Prowl's arm, over his shoulder, and down his backstrut.

Prowl shuddered faintly, feeling the heat bloom through his frame. "Longer than you can imagine." His other, more traditional half pushed against him, urging him to wait and not rush in.

"Part of me wants to continue." A faint frown pulled at the corners of Jazz's mouth.

Prowl was no fool. _He wants to claim me as his,_ he deduced, noting that frown. _He wants to get there first._He found he understood the impulse; Maverick specifically wished he could have been Jazz's first. "But?"

"But there are still some things I need to work out." Jazz glanced past Prowl, his gaze extending to the vast expanse of space above them. "I'm not quite ready."

And there it was: the inevitable tension of their situation. Prowl couldn't blame him for that. He couldn't imagine that anyone in history had ever experienced a situation quite like theirs. In fact, he knew for a fact they couldn't have, and it made things ridiculously complicated. "I understand," he murmured, and he did. It didn't keep him from keenly feeling that tension, though.

"Ya know, durin' all this, I had accepted the possibility of havin' to give ya up," Jazz said. "I was gonna do whatever made ya happiest. But I wasn't prepared at all for this whole 'share Prowl' thing." He shook his head. "I mean, are ya even physically able to bond?"

Prowl flinched, and more than knowing Jazz was uncomfortable, he felt genuine fear as he considered Jazz's question. "I don't know," he admitted. "Please don't worry about it. I'm on it."

"Yer on it, huh?" Jazz's humor seemed to return briefly. "It's weird hearin' ya talk that way, but I guess that's Mav." The humor passed quickly, though, leaving him seeming sad again. "Sorry, man, I know yer on top of it. It's just so complicated."

Prowl watched the interplay of emotions on Jazz's face and wondered just what he'd been thinking about since learning the truth. "Well, if a solution can be found, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor will find it."

Jazz's visibly brought himself back under control, his frown fading as his smile returned. "Yeah, I know. And let's not think 'bout that right now. Wastes time we could spend kissin'." He tugged Prowl back down, and he went willingly, meeting Jazz's lips again.

It wasn't a perfect situation, but with Jazz in his arms, Prowl could pretend, at least for the night.

oOoOo

After his shift the following orn, Prowl wandered the halls for a solid breem, unsure where to go or what to do. Something about his date with Jazz bothered him. Actually, something about his date with both Jazz and Optimus bothered him, and he wasn't sure who to talk to. Normally when he had a problem, he went to one of his two best friends, but he didn't feel comfortable discussing Optimus with Jazz or Jazz with Optimus.

Realizing that his offspring might be willing to help him, Prowl headed to their quarters. He didn't want to burden them, but they were supposed to be working on being a family now. Families tackled problems together, right? Before he could rethink his decision, he buzzed their door chime.

"Come in," called a lazy voice, and the door triggered open.

Prowl stepped inside to find Sideswipe crashed on their couch, playing a specially-made version of a human game console, and Sunstreaker perched on his berth, applying a coat of wax.

"Hey, genie!" Sideswipe grinned and paused his game, tossing aside the controller. "Have a seat."

Sunstreaker groaned. "Don't call him that. Sounds too sparklingish."

Prowl smiled at them, willing to accept the term 'genie' if Sideswipe really wanted it, and joined him on the couch.

"What's up?" Sideswipe asked, peering at him with suspicion. "You've got that hassled look."

Was he that obvious? Prowl didn't intend to be. "I seem to have a problem."

"Bad date with Jazz?" Sunstreaker asked, not looking up from his leg, where he was currently rubbing his polishing cloth.

Prowl wasn't fooled, not after sharing a connection and memories with Sunstreaker. He sensed the unspoken concern there. "Not bad. Just weird." He tried to collect his thoughts. "I'm not convinced that either Jazz or Optimus is dealing too well with the idea that I'm two mechs. And although I admit that having them both date me at once and be okay with it is a lot to ask . . ." He trailed off, suddenly depressed. "I'm afraid this won't work. I need them to accept the bizarreness of the situation and work with me, but so far they're talking about things like splitting me back into twins."

Sunstreaker's optics flared bright, and he set aside his cloth. "Is that even possible?"

"I have no idea." Prowl let his doorwings slump, willing to discard his stoic mask around them. "I admit the concept is a bit scary, though, despite the fact it would let Night and Mav talk to each other again."

Sideswipe flinched. "Scary? Try terrifying."

"I can't imagine," Sunstreaker mumbled.

Prowl tried to gather his scattered thoughts. "Maybe I'm being unfair. Maybe I'm not giving them enough time. I need to be patient and understanding. But . . ." He trailed off again, disturbed. "But if we focus too much on the physics of bonding or the potential problems, we can't even enjoy ourselves. We can't actually build relationships. And my logic is failing me here. I'm not sure where the balance is between being practical or realistic and letting our feelings take their natural course."

"That's heavy," Sideswipe said, squeezing his arm. "I don't even know what to say, but I guess I'd vote for 'feelings on natural course.'" He hesitated, frowning. "But wait. What does Mav think of Prime?"

"Frag, what does Night think of Jazz?" Sunstreaker added.

Prowl stared at them, confused. "What do you mean? Both Night and Mav are friends with both Optimus and Jazz."

"Well, that's good, I guess," Sideswipe ventured. "It'd be bad if Mav was irritated by Optimus or if Night didn't like Jazz."

Sunstreaker cast his brother an unreadable look, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Prowl got the feeling a discussion was occurring over their bond.

"No, it's not _that_, really," Sunstreaker said aloud, then looked away.

Prowl frowned, even more perplexed. "I don't understand." What had they been discussing?

"It's just . . . well, you've got to admit this is pretty weird for us, too," Sideswipe said. "I mean, I know Night and Mav are brothers, and I know they're — you're — not supposed to be together . . . you know, like _that._ But you two _were_together, even if it was only once, and you had sparklings together."

"Yeah, as in _us._ You're our fraggin' _genitors_." Sunstreaker scowled at him. "Look, we get that you have to move on and all. Have real bondmates. But we've barely had time to adjust to the fact you're our genitors, and already we've got to think about step-genitors."

With a sudden flash of insight, Prowl realized that the twins were intimated by how quickly things were changing and afraid that their chance to emotionally bond with him would be lost. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to overwhelm you." He hesitated. "You know, I'm setting aside time to go on these dates, but we need to set aside family time, too." A moment of silence followed, and Prowl knew he was being too obvious about recognizing their secret fears. "I'm quite serious. We can't become a family spontaneously. Thanks to my poor handling of things, we'll have to work at it and build a relationship on purpose. If you like."

Sunstreaker picked up his cloth and began polishing his foot, but the way Sideswipe blindly stared at his brother told Prowl that they were having a conversation over their bond.

Finally, Sideswipe nodded and looked at Prowl. "That makes sense. What are you thinking?"

Prowl smiled at them. "I'll let you choose the bonding activities. Just remember I'm not overly fond of high-grade, loud music, or parties."

Sideswipe grinned. "You forgot to exclude racing."

"Who said I don't like to race?" Prowl chuckled at their shocked expressions. Without preamble, he stood and headed to the door. "Well, thank you for letting me vent. I greatly appreciate it."

Sunstreaker looked up from his waxing and frowned, and Sideswipe jumped to his feet. "Wait, we didn't really help you."

Prowl paused at the door and shrugged faintly. "I'm not sure there's any help to be found. I don't even know if it's possible to bond with them, much less maintain a healthy relationship. For now, venting will have to suffice."

The twins didn't look to thrilled with this simple truth, but Prowl assured them that he was grateful and left to stew in his own processor a bit. Maybe a visit to Ratchet was in store later.

oOoOo

Few creatures in the universe were more stubborn than Sideswipe.

Unless, of course, one counted Sunstreaker.

"Let's go," Sunstreaker said, barely giving Prowl time to get to the elevator so he wouldn't see their exit. Abandoning his favorite wax on his berth, he stalked out of their room, his intentions ringing clear over their bond: they had to find a way to help Prowl.

Sideswipe didn't need to be told twice. As scared as he was of how quickly things were progressing, he wanted Prowl to be happy. Prowl had suffered far too much slag for any one, or two, mechs, and he deserved to find love. In Sideswipe's worldview, everyone deserved to find love.

They practically raced to the medbay, bursting through the doors like avenging sparks and startling Perceptor, who was bent over the main medical terminal.

"Ah, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe." Perceptor straightened and faced them, schooling his face to calmness. "How may I help you?"

Sunstreaker wasn't much for wasting time. "Ratchet!"

Perceptor jolted at his yell. "Ah, yes, he's in his office, working on a project. He — "

As though on cue, Ratchet burst from his door and stomped into the medbay proper. "What's all this yelling and bellyaching about?" He glared at the twins.

"It's about Prowl." Sideswipe decided he'd best take over before his brother lost patience. "We want to ask if it's possible for him to bond to two mechs at once. And, if necessary, let you study our sparks if you need to, you know, do research or something." He cringed faintly at the last part, although he knew Ratchet would never hurt him like the PSF had hurt Night Stalker and Maverick. And his brother.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air, which was as close as he was likely to get to openly agreeing.

Ratchet pondered them silently, Perceptor hovering at his side. A few moments later, Wheeljack entered as though summoned, which is exactly what Sideswipe suspected had happened. "Fine," Ratchet said. "Let's talk about twins and bonds. And I would like to run a sparkcode scan."

Sideswipe hopped up on the nearest medberth. "Okay. What do ya wanna know?"

Ratchet fingered his chin for a moment, then pulled a scanner from his subspace. "Well, I'm not entirely sure what questions I need to ask yet. So far I've been researching abnormal bonds, twins and bondmates."

"And?" At a far more sedate pace, Sunstreaker climbed onto the berth and sat beside his brother.

Ratchet slowly ran his scanner across Sideswipe's chest, paused, then repeated the process. "There are no accounts of twins successfully bonding to a single mech, although there were three such attempts. The theory was that since split spark twins are supposed to be one mech, then they counted as one mech and therefore had to bond — or could bond — to only a single other mech. Or, in a few cases, one of the rare femmes."

Sideswipe nodded. When he had first grown serious about Smokescreen, he'd done some research, albeit sloppily, of his own. "It should work, but it doesn't. They died."

"That's right." Wheeljack joined them, his audiofins flashing dimly as though he were deep in thought. "Apparently, once you're separated, even though you share the same sparkcode and spark frequency, you're granted two indelible personalities. Two bodies, two personalities, and therefore two bondmates."

Sunstreaker snorted. "Well, since I didn't fall for the same mech as Sides that seems obvious."

"Maybe." Sideswipe glanced at his brother. _::You have to admit something is weird, or we wouldn't have to share spark energy in order to live.::_

_::Yeah. And I still have no fraggin' idea how we'll explain that to Blue and Smokey.::_Sunstreaker watched Ratchet as he scanned his chest instead.

"Maybe is right," Perceptor chimed in, folding his hands behind his back. "As Prowl's case so well proves, your sparks can't ultimately stay separated. You come into the universe as one, and you leave as one. To a certain extent, then, you _are_one. And yet, in every successful bonding of twins, the twins have each had their own, individual bondmates."

Ratchet nodded, subspacing his scanner again. "In both theory and practice, Night Stalker and Maverick must have their own bondmates. I say in practice because all previous twins have bonded to two bondmates. I say in theory because we've never had a situation quite like this one. Still, even combined as Prowl, Night Stalker and Maverick apparently still desire and draw two bondmates."

Swinging his legs, Sideswipe absently kicked the berth's pedestal. "So . . . Prowl really does have two sparks in his laser core, and we really are talking a four-way bond."

Ratchet sighed and leaned his hip against the berth, crossing his arms. "Here's where I get confused. I never detected, in any scan ever, the presence of two sparks in his laser core. I know what you two said you overheard Whisper telling Blackjack. And I know what you sensed when you interfaced with Prowl."

"Not like that!" Sunstreaker glared at Ratchet.

Wheeljack raised his hands in a calming fashion. "We know, we know."

Perceptor shook his head sadly. "It's so distressing how the word 'interface' has come to mean only one thing to most mechs."

"Whatever." Sunstreaker turned his glare upon the far wall.

"What I'm _trying_to say," Ratchet interrupted, "is that I have to wonder if Maverick's spark is really there or if it's an echo left over in Night Stalker's."

Stunned, Sideswipe stared at him. "No way! It can't be. We could _feel_Maverick. And, well, Maverick is in love with Jazz."

Ratchet raised one finger. "Or Prowl himself is simply in love with two mechs at once, and unable to resolve his feelings, he explains them with what he perceives to be true."

For a moment, Sideswipe thought his processor might break. "No. _No._It's more than Sunny and me feeling Maverick. Prowl told us stories of how Night and Mav shared his body at first and how the battle computer was programmed to merge them."

"Yeah." Sunstreaker frowned. "And Prowl says he's turning down the battle computer's strength to let either Mav or Night come out more. You know, when he's on dates."

"Primus!" Wheeljack shook his head.

"More pieces fit into the puzzle that is Prowl," Ratchet sighed. "I see. Prime and Jazz told me a quick, abridged version, I guess."

Sideswipe grimaced. "Well, okay. That brings us back to my question: can Prowl bond to both Optimus and Jazz at the same time. Since he's, like, two mechs in one?"

Perceptor folded his arms behind his back. "I'm not sure there's any other choice. You see, if he were a single mech, to do so would be suicide, just like the twins who tried to bond to one mech. Only Seekers can form trines, and even then, that is possible only because their sparks were altered in ancient times to do so. In all other cases, such as Nucleus Bonds, there must always be an even number of bondmates. If not, a dangerous imbalance in spark energy occurs and — "

"It's bad," Ratchet interrupted before Perceptor got too carried away. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but when one of you decides to bond, you'll both have to bond at once."

"Huh?" Sideswipe stopped kicking the berth and sat forward. "What do you mean?"

Sunstreaker's gaze was suddenly riveted to Ratchet, although he didn't say anything.

Ratchet gestured to their chests. "You already have a bond. Not a romantic one, but a bond nevertheless. If only one of you bonds, you'll create the same dangerous imbalance in spark energy. For example, if Sunny bonds to Blue, then excess spark energy will continually flow over your twin bond to you." He caught Sideswipe's gaze. "At first, it will simply make you ill. Then it will cause you seizures. Finally, it will kill you. And once it does, it will kill Sunny and Blue, too." His voice dropped. "Sound familiar?"

Sideswipe frowned. It did. It was the same progression of illness caused when his spark got out of alignment with his brother's, although it was from a vastly different cause. "Yeah, but . . ." He wasn't about to ask about twin spark merging in front of an audience, even though Prowl had assured them it was normal.

As though understanding the implied question, Ratchet shook his head, and Sideswipe suspected he still had no answer as to why such a thing was necessary. "Too many of our medical databases have been destroyed in this war."

_::And wiped out by the PSF,::_ Sunstreaker muttered over their bond. _::Fraggers. Would it really have hurt them to share some of that info?::_

Sideswipe had to agree, but another question was bothering him. "So that means that Sunny, Blue, Smokey, and I will have a four-way bond?"

"In a sense," Wheeljack said, stepping forward. "But twin bonds are not romantic and therefore aren't counted legally. That's why nothing is ever said about it. Since Prowl is now a single mech, though, it will count as a Nucleus Bond in most mechs' optics."

"It's _illegal_?" Sideswipe was outraged. "It wouldn't be for Sunny and me! Why should it be any different for them?"

Wheeljack shrugged. "If it goes before the Council, I'll make an argument of exactly that kind. As far as I'm concerned, it _is_no different. It's not like Optimus and Jazz will be bonding to each other."

Perceptor raised one hand, thoughtfully tapping his finger against his lips. "Unless, of course, they have to literally all three — or four, I guess I should say — bond at once in order for Night Stalker to successfully connect with Optimus and Maverick to Jazz. After all, I don't see how the twins can separate sparks for the bonding process."

All four other mechs stared at Perceptor.

"Primus!" Ratchet muttered.

"Just what we need," Wheeljack sighed. "More complication."

"Jazz will be bonded to Optimus, too?" Sideswipe asked, stunned at the thought.

Sunstreaker shook his head. "Is there any other way?"

Wheeljack and Perceptor traded looks. "Well," Wheeljack said hesitantly. "We have been exploring the possibility of trying to split Maverick and Night Stalker back apart, and that's where studying you two might be helpful."

Sideswipe couldn't decide if the concept of splitting Prowl again was comforting or deeply creepy. "Whatever we can do to help." He knew Prowl wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea, and at the same time, Prowl had told them how Night Stalker and Maverick wished they could speak to each other again. Sideswipe shuddered, feeling unable to imagine a Pit lower than being having his twin bond silenced. Even a simple situation like Sunstreaker being in stasis could make his circuits crawl. When unable to fully access their bond, he always felt tense and jumpy, and the sensation it produced was akin to suffocation. A lifetime of that suffocation? _No,_ he thought, his determination to help his genitor intensifying. _Prowl deserves happiness!_

"But . . ." Wheeljack trailed off.

"But what?" came a smooth baritone voice from the doorway.

Sideswipe glanced over everyone's heads, his spark giving a strange, tiny leap at hearing his genitor's voice. What had before been a painful longing in his spark had turned instead to a warm buzz. "Prowl!" _Primus,_ he thought, still wistful. _I'd do anything to be closer to him._In a sense, he feared it would be a form of self-sacrifice to help Prowl work out a relationship with Optimus and Jazz, although he believed it was the right thing to do and wanted him to be happy.

Prowl crossed the room, his arms folded tightly over his chest. "I thought I'd come hear what you have to say on the subject." He leaned his hip against the berth that Sideswipe was sitting on, his doorwing nearly brushing Sideswipe's knee, and frowned at the assembled department heads. "Seems like I've arrived just in time."

"The 'but' is that I'm worried about it," Wheeljack said. "There are just so many questions. Can Maverick's spark be extracted from your body? Put into a new one? Somehow, I doubt it since you're reconnected now. And even if I built a body based on your specs, we'd have to try to download all of your memories to it to recreate an adult, mature, intelligent mech. On top of that, Mav and Night together make up you, Prowl, our Chief Tactician and SIC. Even if Maverick could be accepted by the crew, wouldn't your skill set shift? Night Stalker or Maverick might still be the SIC, but would the other be the CT? Could one of you alone even run Prowl's battle computer? Plus there's no guarantee the split could be made permanent or that Night Stalker's spark wouldn't get damaged or lost in the process. Or Maverick's either, for that matter." He paused, his shoulders slumping. "Plus, even if I can build such a device, I have no way to safely test it."

Prowl remained deadly silent through the entire spiel, and Sideswipe watched him closely. Their genitor-sparkling bond was barely open, but even he could tell that Prowl was secretly terrified. It worried him, making him want to fight someone on Prowl's behalf. The problem was there was no one to fight. "You don't have to do this," he whispered, squeezing Prowl's arm. "No one expects you to put your life in danger."

Prowl gave him a tiny, sad smile, and he felt like his spark would break. "I know," he said quietly. He glanced back at Ratchet. "Please focus your attention on researching unusual bonds." Without another word, he turned and left.

Sideswipe watched the black and white form slip from the room, those doorwings still hanging low, and vowed to himself that he would see Prowl be happy even if he had to beat up Prime himself.

oOoOo

A quiet moan escaped those beautiful, beautiful lips, and Optimus felt his engine turn over. No one was as gorgeous as Prowl, and Prowl was never so gorgeous as when he was in pleasure. Optimus licked the rim of Prowl's headlight again, wanting nothing more than to bring the special mech in his arms greater and greater pleasure. He wanted to devote his life to it, trace his love over Prowl's body every night, show him just how deeply he affected him.

Optimus banished, for the moment, the thought that those nights would have to be shared with another. That he couldn't, in fact, have Prowl every night because half that time would belong to Jazz.

Shifting on Prime's lap, Prowl pressed up into his touch, his doorwings arching out behind him and trembling with building passion. The sight and feel of it made Optimus want to make love to him on the spot, but he understood — and respected — that Prowl wasn't quite ready yet. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss interfacing, but Optimus considered it dishonorable to rush a lover. And that was why, when Prowl squeezed his shoulders, Optimus released him without complaint.

"Sorry," Prowl whispered, breathless. "I can't quite explain . . . I mean, as Night Stalker it seems that I — "

"You don't need to explain," Optimus said gently. Although he couldn't put words to it, he believed deep in his spark that interfacing was a sacred act, just shy of sparkbonding, that created a bond of its own. The idea of Prowl's being uncomfortable during such an experience was disturbing at best.

Prowl smiled up at him, love shining in his optics, and leaned into his side. After a moment of peaceful silence, he spoke again. "You picked a lovely spot."

Cherishing the feel of Prowl's warmth against his plating, Optimus returned the smile. "Yes, it definitely is." They were sitting on a wooded cliff high above the Pacific Ocean. Behind them in the forest, crickets sang a chorus of chirps and leaves tussled in the breeze, while below them the sun seemed to slowly sink into the ocean, casting a crimson glow across the horizon.

Pressing his hand to Optimus' grille, Prowl leisurely traced the slats there. "I can tell you that it's been millennia since I, as Night, felt so peaceful."

Optimus shivered, torn between warning Prowl how sensitive his grille was and letting him continue with the touches. Prowl had already discovered just how arousing lips on his finials were. However, before Prime could make up his mind, Prowl removed his hand and shifted restlessly. "What is it?" Optimus asked, concerned.

"I need to talk to you." Prowl frowned. "About the spark device and the concept of splitting me back into twins."

Leaning back against the tree, Optimus nodded. "Certainly. What's on your processor?"

Prowl's doorwings hiked up high on his back, betraying his stress. "I don't think splitting me will work. On multiple counts."

"How so?" Optimus hadn't allowed himself to consider the implications of his idea, and he realized suddenly his avoidance was creating issues. He _had_to consider all the factors in any decision, perhaps especially one concerning someone he loved.

"Think about it." Prowl frowned. "If you could split us, there would be no more master tactician. Maverick is your SIC. He's the one with the ambition and desire to lead. We were Special Ops before, but if I were separate again . . ." He pursed his lips. "I would pursue a degree in psychology. Probably specifically counseling."

"That would be nice," Optimus said, imagining a quieter, softer Prowl fulfilling such a role. "Primus knows we could use a licensed one. Not to insult Smokescreen, because he does better than we have the right to expect, but he really doesn't have the credentials." He sighed, knowing it was nothing more than a daydream. "But we can't sacrifice our head tactician, either. You're what keeps us alive most orns." He watched Prowl closely. "You could just do what you're already doing. Turn down the battle computer and let Maverick or Night Stalker step forward."

Prowl frowned. "Yes, it does feel natural to be one again. But it's also true that Mav and I can't lead our own lives anymore, and we also can't talk over our bond."

"There is another option." Optimus straightened, still trying to work around the problem. "Remove the battle computer. It will return you to the way you were." He paused, reconsidering his own proposal. "No, never mind. Once again it poses the problem of losing our Chief Tactician."

"We can't," Prowl agreed, his doorwings flopping downward to lie flat on his back. "It will make me look like Prowl — I mean me — like I have a split personality and give me a half-life. I could handle it, I know, and Night and Mav would be able to talk over the bond again. But, as you say, the Chief Tactician will be lost. This means potentially more losses to the 'Cons, more deaths among the troops, and a reduction in my overall efficiency. Plus it doesn't solve the issue of you and Jazz bonding to a single mech because we will still only have one body."

Optimus nodded silently, doing his best to keep up with the swiftly changing pronouns. Prowl took turns, it seemed, referring to himself as Prowl and as Night Stalker, just depending on the flow of the conversation. It was easy for Optimus to grow confused.

"No. I can't do this." Prowl met Prime's gaze. "I can't let the Autobots lose their CT or risk a loss of efficiency. There are lives at stake here."

"I agree." Optimus sighed and looked away, glancing out over the ocean. The water was turning navy blue with the onset of night, and the waves beat rhythmically upon the shore. This really wasn't the future he'd imagined, and he had hoped to find a better solution. However, clearly that wasn't going to happen, and as good as he was at managing conflicts and generating resolutions, Optimus wasn't sure he could handle a lifetime of balancing a three-way relationship. That didn't change the fact he loved Prowl and wanted to be with him, though. He sighed again, unable to see a solution yet.

Prowl stood abruptly and walked to the edge of the cliff. "I know this is an imposition for you. I apologize for being such a bother."

Startled, Optimus realized that his sighs had been understood a bit too well. "It's not that, although I admit this is a quite a problem we have. There's much to consider."

Facing him, Prowl drew his shoulders back. "I know, but I have to admit that I'm taken aback that you've asked me to become someone else. I'm beginning to feel like you're unhappy with who I am or are not accepting who I am."

"No, not at all," Optimus immediately answered, stung. He stood as well. "I'm adjusting as quickly as I can." The frustration he secretly felt began to slip through. "But I can't adjust instantly. Do you really expect me to?" He sensed that his patience was frayed, but he couldn't quite hold back the words. "You didn't trust me with who you are, you technically saw someone behind my back, and in order to have you at all I have to share you with someone else." His growing tirade screeched to a halt as Prowl flinched and turned away. _That is a selfish thought,_ Prime chastised himself silently. _I'm ignoring who Prowl is, which is who I fell in love with._ With a jolt, Optimus realized what he'd been missing this entire time, what he knew but actually _wasn't_accepting: ultimately, he was in love with Prowl, not just Night Stalker alone.

Prowl's doorwings trembled faintly, and he crossed his arms, not looking Prime's way. "I realize this is not easy for you." His tone was deadly calm, low, quiet. "And I'm sorry I couldn't be perfect, handle this perfectly, be that pristine tactical officer and SIC." He turned slowly, optics narrowed and glowing fiercely. "But this is difficult for me, too. Jazz is vacillating, and you want to turn me into someone else. It feels like your love for me is slipping away or that it's conditional."

"No, I do love you!" Optimus reached out, his natural impulse as a lover taking over. He always wanted to touch: to hug, to hold, to physically comfort. "I fell in love with _Prowl_. Not just Night Stalker, but Prowl. The whole you."

Stepping away, Prowl avoided his touch, silently rebuffing him this time. "Then why do you want to split me apart?" His gaze fell to the ground, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't you see how dangerous this is? Did you stop to consider how terrifying I find this?" He met Prime's gaze again, his voice growing louder. "I don't want my spark experimented with again! I'd rather be shot dead by Megatron."

Optimus understood that his words sounded flimsy and that he'd had his revelation too late. He had so much confidence in Ratchet and Wheeljack he hadn't stopped to consider that it might scare Prowl. In fact, he'd been so focused on finding a solution to their problem that he hadn't stopped to ask Prowl how he felt. "I'm sorry. I really wasn't thinking it through. Of course you shouldn't do anything you feel uncomfortable with."

Pausing, Prowl watched his face closely, as though trying to see into him. "It's a relief to hear you say that, but . . ." He trailed off and sighed, seeming suddenly tired, almost older.

"What do _you_want?" Optimus ventured, worried by Prowl's silence.

Prowl shook his head. "I don't know anymore." Even his voice sounded flat, as though most of his spark energy had been drained away. "Let's go back to base. I'm exhausted." Without waiting for a reply, he transformed and drove away.

Transforming as well, Optimus followed him, realizing that in his push to solve one problem he'd created a second one.

oOoOo

Standing at attention, Shockwave waited for the space bridge's elevator to open. This was perhaps the most important moment of his plan: he had to draw Megatron and Soundwave to Cybertron and trap them there. Therefore, under the guise of demonstrating a new weapon he'd designed and built, Shockwave had asked for an orn of Megatron's time. By giving said weapon a telepathic component, Shockwave had secured Soundwave's presence also.

The space bridge hummed to life, its circuits pulsing with energy. "Perfect," he congratulated himself. In just a few astroseconds they would arrive. Starscream's and his plan was proceeding beautifully.

Although he didn't trust Starscream, Shockwave knew he could 'trust' one thing: Starscream would betray Megatron. Add in the lure of bonding — Starscream had always hated Megatron for outlawing it before he could bond with his trine — and the traitor was jumping at the chance to help Shockwave overthrow Megatron. Of course, Shockwave knew Starscream would try to murder him once their coup was finished, but he also knew he could defeat the SIC easily, especially with the troops now rallying behind his call. After all, both Megatron and Starscream had been absent for four millennia, leaving Shockwave an excessive amount of time to build rapport with the troops.

All Shockwave had to do was keep Megatron and Soundwave out of the way. By trapping them on Cybertron in a specially built room, which was the room where the supposed weapon was kept, Shockwave would do just that. He knew Megatron's and Soundwave's specs well enough to build them the ideal prison.

With a swooshing sound, the spacebridge door opened, and Megatron and Soundwave stalked into the room.

"Let's not waste time," Megatron said, his voice easily filling the room. The voice of a commander.

But Shockwave had something that Megatron did not: logic. Pure, perfect logic. Where Megatron capitulated into emotional hysterics, Shockwave held fast with patience, reason, and science.

"This way, Lord Megatron," he said, smiling internally and gesturing toward the hallway. And so began the completion of a flawless plan.

_And now for Earth, Prime, and the total destruction of the Autobots._


End file.
